My Dust Would Hear
by Tsiishch'li
Summary: Mordred was the Druid Boy with a destiny written in stone: He would kill King Arthur. Heartbreak pushed him away from Camelot and into Morgana's clutches. But what if he had chosen not to go? What if he'd had a reason to stay? Mordred/OC. Rated for safety, paranoia, and later chapters. Slight AU.
1. Prologue

_**Author's Note: I finally made myself finish Merlin. I've been putting it off for years because I knew I would cry and yep I damn sure did. But honestly, the way they handled Mordred at the end pissed me off more than anything else. So I decided to do something I usually don't do: I came up with a happy headcanon and wrote it. And then I actually ended up really liking the way it came out. So I'm sharing it in the hopes that some other Mordred fan will find it and smile.**_

 _ **Title, as usual, is taken from a quote. This time it's Tennyson:**_

 _ **She is coming, my own, my sweet;**_

 _ **Were it ever so airy a tread,**_

 _ **My heart would hear her and beat,**_

 _ **Were it earth in an earthy bed,**_

 _ **My dust would hear her and beat,**_

 _ **Had I lain for a century dead;**_

 _ **Would start and tremble under her feet,**_

 _ **And blossom in purple and red.**_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own _Merlin_ or the Tennyson quote. This is purely for entertainment purposes and I make no profit from it.  
**

* * *

 _ **Prologue**_

 _"Help me."_

Senga turned around, confused. "Father?" she called, tugging on her father's coat to get his attention. "Father, did you hear that?"

Her father, Aonghas, had to get down on one knee to make his face level with hers. "Senga, dearest, I love you, but I need to finish bartering with this nice man. Can you go play for a bit in the courtyard? Try to stay out of everyone's way."

Senga nodded and obediently walked away, trying not to let her disappointment show. She knew she was too small to help with her father's work, since he was a blacksmith and she was only eleven—and small for her age, according to everyone she met. But she would much rather help her father than play by herself.

 _"Help me, please."_

Her head jerked up and she looked around for who had said that. It was a boy's voice, she could tell that much, and no one she recognized. She didn't hear it with her ears, either, she realized; the voice had been in her head, the same way her thoughts were. Senga turned in a slow circle, searching the courtyard for the source of the strange call.

 _There._

A boy wearing a blue cloak stood alone on the edge of the courtyard. He watched the guards, she noticed. As if he wanted to hide from them.

Senga ran over to the boy and took his arm. "This way," she said, pulling him over to a low wall beside the well. They hunkered down together. "My name's Senga," she whispered. "What's yours?"

The boy stared at her with the bluest eyes she had ever seen. There was a pattern woven into the hems of his shirt, she noticed. A pattern that reminded her of someone she'd seen her mother talking to once, many years ago, just a couple days before mother had died.

"You're a Druid, aren't you?" Senga asked. "My father told me about the Druids. He said your people are peaceful. He also said the king hates you for no good reason." She clapped a hand to her mouth and mumbled through her fingers, "I'm not supposed to say that."

The boy simply kept staring at her.

Senga frowned. "I heard you before, when you were asking for help. Why can't I hear you now?"

"Senga!"

She twisted around to look in the direction of her father's voice. Turning back to the Druid boy, she smiled at him. "My father's calling. I have to go. You should stay here. It's a good spot to hide until someone comes to help you."

The boy clutched at her arm as she stood up, his eyes widening in sudden panic.

She put a hand on top of his and gently tried to pry his fingers open. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you're a Druid. I promise. But I really do have to go before my father comes looking for me and finds you. He'll want to help you but he'll get in trouble for it. I'm sorry, I have to go."

Senga got up and darted off toward her father.

 _"My name is Mordred. Thank you, Senga."_

Not wanting to bring any attention to the boy, Senga didn't stop to acknowledge him. She just kept running toward her father and hoped the guards wouldn't find him.

* * *

Mordred clutched at his wounded arm and watched the girl until she disappeared into the crowd. People had told him that there wasn't anyone left in Camelot with magic. Apparently they were wrong. She would not have heard him if she didn't have at least a little bit of talent.

Pain shot up his arm and he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. _"Help me,"_ he called with his mind again. He could feel Emrys drawing near. Mordred had to use all his concentration to keep himself awake. There was too much blood, he knew; the cut was deep and if left untreated he would pass out soon. So he focused all his energy on surviving.

As the years rolled by, Mordred never forgot the people who saved his life. Emrys, more than willing at first and then oddly reluctant. Morgana, surprisingly compassionate toward the Druids and who proved to be an ally. Her servant, who was kind enough not to report his presence. Arthur, the most surprising of all and possibly the one with the most to lose.

And a girl with dark hair, a rough dress, and eyes the color of dove's wings, who had saved his life without even knowing it.

He remembered all of them as he grew up, but she lingered in his mind the most.

* * *

 _ **AN: And now I shall attempt to explain how I fiddled with the timeline. While writing this story, I made every episode of Merlin stand for about a month of time. If episode 1 happens in October, then episode 2 would happen in November, and so on. So every series is 13 months and the first four series total 52 months, which is just over 4 years. Additionally, we know there is a 1 year break between series 3 and 4, and a 3 year break between series 4 and 5. Therefore, 8 years pass between the beginning of series 1 and the beginning of series 5. By starting with Asa's age, Mordred was 11 in series 1 and 19 at the beginning of series 5.  
**_

 _ **For this story, I stretched out series 5 a bit. I delayed Morgana's declaration of war. There is a extra 2 years of peace after episode 5, before Morgana steals Gwen. So at the beginning of the next chapter, Mordred will be 21 years old. And Senga is about the same age.**_

 _ **As I upload further chapters, I will explain exactly where that chapter falls in my timeline.**_

 _ **If anyone is curious and wants to see the full timeline (including headcanon birthdays, ages, and astrology signs for characters), just PM me and I'll send it your way.**_

 _ **Phew that's a long Author's Note. I apologize and leave you (hopefully) with a smile. :)**_

 _ **Please review!**_


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is closer to average length of the rest of the chapters. No more shorties until the epilogue. Just to reiterate timeline: this chapter occurs about two years after episode 5 of series 5 but before episode 6. Enjoy!  
**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own _Merlin._ I do not make any profit off this. Please don't sue me.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter One**_

Mordred slowly made his way through the lower town market. He didn't get down here near as often as he wanted to; there were so many people he, as a knight and one of their protectors, should know, if not by name then at least on sight. But between patrols and training and the special missions that always seemed to crop up, he had very little extra time to spend down here. Today he could afford to linger. Arthur had decided that the knights deserved a holiday of sorts and so a quarter of them had the entire day off, another quarter would have tomorrow off, and so on.

So Mordred took his time and spoke to the merchants and craftsmen, attempting to memorize faces and names and occupations. If he was lucky, only a few would slip his grasp.

The ring of a blacksmith's hammer caught his ear and he started making his way toward it. He figured a blacksmith could be a good friend to have, considering his occupation. Spotting the forge well before he reached it, he saw that there were some items displayed on a table being watched over by a young woman. Most likely the blacksmith's daughter, Mordred guessed.

He surreptitiously took in her appearance as he approached the table. Brown hair bound in a loose braid, slight build, delicate bones, just barely too tall to be considered petite; striking, he could not help noticing, but not beautiful in the most classical sense. Her dress was made of low quality cloth; there were a few surprisingly well-hidden patches. She held herself with confidence, though, as if she were born to silks instead of rough cotton.

There was something vaguely familiar about her, but Mordred could not put his finger on it.

She sent him a friendly smile as he came closer. "Can I interest you in anything today, sir knight? There's some fine daggers here that I'm sure you could make better use of than anyone else in the lower town." Her voice was warm, and lower than he'd expected.

"I'll take a look," Mordred said amiably, glancing over the table. One dagger in particular caught his eye.

The young woman noticed. "That's one of my father's better works, I have to say. It attracts so much attention that he's a bit reluctant to let it go."

"Your father?" Mordred asked without looking up.

"Aonghas is his name. He's the one swinging the hammer and making all that racket in the forge. I'm only here to help him actually make a living off all his hard work."

Mordred chuckled lightly. "Surely with you around he doesn't need a fancy dagger to attract customers."

He expected a giggle, a flirtation back.

Instead, the young woman laughed in honest delight. "Well, thank you, sir knight. But don't let him hear you say that," she warned.

Intrigued now, Mordred tried again to see if he could get the typical response from her. "He wouldn't want a knight interested in his daughter?" he asked, quirking his lips up into enough of a smile for her to know he was jesting.

Once again, she surprised him.

She snorted in a most undignified manner. "I almost think he'd prefer I ran off with a Druid," she muttered under her breath, so quietly he barely heard her.

Frowning slightly now, Mordred paused and looked at her again. He openly studied her this time. There was something familiar about her, something in her eyes— _he knew her._ He could not remember where or when but he knew had spoken with her before.

"I am sorry if I offended you, sir knight," she said, beginning to fidget under his scrutiny. "And forgive my poor manners as well. I did not ask your name."

His mouth twitched up into a polite smile that disappeared as quickly as it usually did. "My name is Mordred."

 _There._

Recognition flashed in her gaze. Her head dipped quickly in a futile effort to hide it. "A pleasure to meet you, Sir Mordred."

Mordred smiled again, and meant it this time, because he knew those eyes. He leaned a bit closer and lowered his voice so only her ears would catch his next words. "I remember you now."

Her eyes flashed up to stare at him, the very same eyes that had haunted his memories for so long: eyes the color of a dove's wings. They were exactly as he remembered.

The fright in them was new, however, and he did not like it one bit. "You have nothing to fear from me, Senga. You saved my life, after all."

She seemed to believe him. The fear diminished, at least, though she did remain a bit wary. A stray lock of brown hair got nervously tucked behind an ear. "You remember my name?"

"Of course I do. You saved me. I owe you a great debt."

Senga made a sound of pure disbelief. "Perhaps, but that was…how long ago? Ten, eleven years? All I did was push you behind a wall."

"And if you had not," Mordred said firmly, "the guards would have found me and I would have been executed. There are many people in Camelot responsible for saving me from Uther, and you are one of them."

"You're—" she caught herself and glanced around, lowering her voice even further. "You're a Druid. How did you become a knight?"

"Arthur doesn't know," Mordred said simply.

Her eyes widened. "You lied to the king?"

"What's this, now?" a booming voice interrupted them.

Mordred immediately turned his attention back to the dagger that had caught his eye before.

"Father," Senga greeted, taking a small step away from the knight. "This is Sir Mordred. He was— _is_ examining your merchandise. Sir Mordred, this is my father Aonghas, the blacksmith who made all these exceptional wares."

Mordred straightened to his full height and nodded politely at the hulking mountain of a man. He suspected even Percival would feel small next to Aonghas. Well, perhaps not small; normal-sized, at least. "This workmanship is quality indeed, sir. How is it you are not working in the royal forges?"

Aonghas grunted. "Politics. I can't claim blood with any of the right people to get a place working there." His eyes—the same color as Senga's, Mordred noticed—inspected Mordred from his hair to his boots and back again. "You're a little young to be a knight, aren't you?"

"Father!" Senga chastised. "You can't address a knight like that!"

"I can when he shows more interest in my daughter than the blades," Aonghas retorted, the gleam in his gaze turning gentle when he looked at her.

Mordred watched the exchange with a slight pang of jealousy. After a moment of silence passed, he cleared his throat nervously. "You are correct, sir blacksmith, in that I am the youngest of King Arthur's knights."

The burly blacksmith sent the young knight a look that demanded complete honesty.

"And I must concede that I did spend more time looking at your daughter than your wares," Mordred admitted. "She is quite beautiful after all, with intelligence and kindness to match. I apologize for overstepping my bounds."

Aonghas lifted a lazy brow. "Pretty words. I am protective of my daughter, Sir Mordred, but I'm not fool enough to think she'll never look at a man. And I'm certainly not fool enough to challenge a knight. Follow custom and you'll get no trouble from me. If you wish to court her, that is. I'll take no offense if you don't."

Those last words were said cheerfully—and a bit hopefully—Mordred noticed.

Senga stared pointedly at the ground, a deep red blush blooming on her cheeks. "Father, I do not think that is necessary. He was truly only interested in your blades."

"Oh, so he believes himself too good for the likes of you. I may have to challenge him for that insult."

This was said in jest—Mordred hoped.

Senga grinned but quickly hid it. Mordred found himself breathing a sigh of relief. "You know very well I would not pine over such a man. We would be equally disinterested in one another and you would have nothing to fear."

Aonghas grinned at Mordred. "There you have it, sir knight."

"However," Senga continued, "I do not believe Sir Mordred is that kind of man. He may very well be a man I could grow to admire. But since he has declared no intentions of seeking permission to court me or even spend time with me, I think you are safe for now, Father."

The blacksmith's grin melted into grudging silence.

Senga turned back to Mordred, a gleam in her eye and a smile playing about her mouth. "Do you wish to buy the dagger you've been eyeing, Sir Mordred?"

Mordred looked at it again. It was both attractive and practical: perfectly balanced and honed to the sharpest edge possible, with some exquisite embellishment worked into the hilt. He asked for the price, mentally weighing his purse. "Yes, I believe I do wish to purchase it."

Aonghas withdrew back to his forge while Senga fetched the scabbard. As Mordred took it, however, she held on. "I feel as though I should apologize for my father's behavior," she whispered, leaning a bit closer to him. "As he said, he is very protective of me."

"There is nothing to apologize for," Mordred whispered back. "I do have one request of you, however."

Senga tipped her head to the side, silently indicating for him to continue.

"Do you know the meadow east of the citadel walls?"

A shadow of confusion passed over her face as she nodded.

"Can you meet me there before dawn tomorrow?"

Senga chewed on her lip for a moment, but held his gaze as she considered. "I will try."

"I only wish to speak with you, Senga."

She nodded decisively. "I will try to be there."

Mordred felt himself smiling again as he walked away. He made sure to tamp it down before he reached the citadel, however; since he wasn't given to smiling for no apparent reason, the other knights would never let him be until they wheedled the reason out of him.

* * *

Mordred arrived at the meadow early. Winter's chill hung in the air, even though some trees still clung to their colorful autumn leaves. The morning was misty and quiet; birds had not even awakened yet. Mordred stood with his eyes closed and listened for her arrival. Soon enough the sound of footsteps reached his ears, steps too light for a soldier and too heavy for most animals. She had obviously spent time in the forest before, time enough to learn how to move quickly and more silently than most.

Hurrying over to him, Senga spoke before he could even open his mouth. "I know why you asked me to come, and I want you to know that you have no reason to worry. I won't tell anyone you're a Druid."

"Senga," he started to explain himself, only to have her interrupt him.

"I made you a promise all those years ago and I intend to keep it," Senga said, both her gaze and her voice direct and firm. "Your secret will be safe with me as long as you wish."

"Senga," he said again and took a breath to continue—to explain that he had not, in fact, asked her here because he was worried. He had asked her to come because eleven years had passed since they had met and thoughts of her had never strayed far from his mind. He wanted a chance to get to know her, to see if she had managed to hang on to the sweet and accepting heart she'd had then. He wanted to find out if he could love Senga as much as he loved her memory.

But the words jammed up in his throat. So instead he gave her the answer she expected. "Thank you."

She smiled. "You are most welcome."

Mordred found himself returning the smile without meaning to—an oddity for him. He could also feel himself relaxing, if only a little. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why did you help me then and why do you continue to do so now?"

Her head tipped to the side, an amused glint in her eye. "That was two questions."

A surprised chuckle fell from his lips. "You are correct. You may only answer one, if you wish."

Senga grew serious once more as she considered her answer. "The answer is the same for both, I suppose. My father's mother was a high priestess of the Old Religion. Uther had her executed in the Great Purge along with her husband. My father was only spared because he had no magical talent at all. He is a blacksmith, and a fine one, but he made a horrible Druid. But he taught me about them, taught me some of their ways that he remembered. For as long as I can remember, I've always wanted to help them. You were the only chance I ever had to actually do something good for a Druid."

Mordred absorbed her story, wanting to believe every word, but years of caution had him automatically searching for a lie in her face. There was not one, insofar as he could tell. He felt himself relax a bit more. "Are you truly the granddaughter of a high priestess?"

"Yes, I am."

"Magical talent has been known to skip a generation. You may have some of her power. You were able to hear me all those years ago, after all. There may be some dormant affinity in your blood."

Senga shook her head. "It probably would have shown itself somehow by now."

"Most likely," Mordred reluctantly conceded. "You are still blessed with a proud lineage."

"Proud everywhere but in Camelot," she murmured, almost wistfully.

"Someday things will change. Druids and magic will both be welcome here once more."

"Do you truly believe that?"

"I believe in Arthur. He is a good man."

"Well, there's certainly more hope with Arthur than there was with Uther. He doesn't seem as…fanatical as his father was." Senga glanced at the brightening sky. "I should return before Father realizes I'm gone."

Mordred put a hand on her arm as she turned to leave, making her pause and look at him. "Thank you again, Senga."

A soft smile touched her lips as she inclined her head. "You are welcome, Sir Mordred."

"Just Mordred, please," he asked.

She hesitated before nodding her consent. "As you wish."

This time he let her go. He watched as she disappeared into the thinning mist and found himself wondering when he would get the chance to speak with her again.

* * *

 _ **Please review!**_


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: No timeline updates to report this time. It'll be straightforward until chapter 6, I believe. And I really have nothing else to report. So enjoy!  
**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Two**_

Nearly a fortnight passed before Mordred saw her again.

He went out walking after a rather humiliating training session and found himself in the lower town market, wandering among merchant stalls. The distant pounding of a blacksmith's hammer rang in his ears; he smiled a little and set his feet on a more focused path.

Senga was right where he expected her to be: outside her father's forge, keeping an eye on all the displayed wares. She looked up at his approach and smiled warmly. "Good afternoon, Mordred. Do you need something?"

Mordred simply looked at her, taking in the escaped tendrils of hair around her face, the slight flush on her cheeks that deepened the longer he stayed silent, the sprinkling of freckles across her nose, the gentleness of her dove grey eyes. "Just someone to talk to," he finally admitted with a sigh. "Can you meet me in the meadow tomorrow morning?"

She glanced over her shoulder at her father—who had not seemed to notice the knight's presence—and then leaned closer to Mordred. "Are you free the rest of this afternoon?" she whispered. "What little is left of it, that is?"

"Yes," he whispered back, more intrigued than he cared to admit.

"Then I can do better than tomorrow. Meet me there as soon as you can."

He had to swallow a lump of surprise before he could speak. "I don't want to get you in any trouble."

"You won't," Senga assured him. "Just go. I'll be right behind you."

Mordred hesitated still, and she made a shooing motion at him, smiling again.

"I'll be fine," she insisted. "Go."

Having no other choice, Mordred left and hurried to the meadow. The day was an unusually bright one; the sun's rays burned down warm and golden, and he worried briefly about anyone seeing Senga following him—then he quickly forced the thought out of his mind. They weren't doing anything wrong. It may be rather unconventional for a young knight and a young woman to meet without a chaperone, but that was all.

Mordred, still feeling a bit uneasy about the situation, thankfully did not have to wait long before she arrived. Then he grew more curious than anything else, because she was walking up to him with a basket on her arm and self-satisfied smirk on her face that would not have looked out of place on a cat.

"What did you tell your father?" he asked.

"The truth," she said simply.

Mordred sent her a disbelieving look.

"Part of the truth," she amended. "I need to gather herbs for food and medicine and what have you and I can do so on the way back."

"Won't he mind if you take all afternoon to do that?"

"No. I need some time to myself every once in a while. Father knows and understands. It's good for both of us."

Mordred considered that. "So 'gathering herbs' is a convenient excuse for when you two get sick of each other's company?"

She nodded. "It's not the only one we use. He says I take after my mother, but I don't think it's true. I think I'm entirely too much like him and our similarities only serve to…grate on each other's nerves."

"Similarities such as?"

Senga's eyes drifted down and away from him as she considered. He guessed she had never been asked to put it into words before. "We're both too stubborn, downright bullheaded at times. We can be…how do I say this delicately…abrasively honest with each other. We're passionate, as well. We tend to care too much, about everything—and that's not always good, especially not when we disagree on something. Most of the time we get along wonderfully. But tempers can flare at times, and we've learned that the best thing to do when that happens is simply spend a few hours apart to think things through."

Mordred watched her carefully as she spoke. She was quite possibly the most animated person he had ever met. Her emotions were laid bare for all to see, for good or ill, and he could not help admiring her for it. "You love each other very much," he noted when she finished.

Surprised, Senga laughed. " _That_ is what you take away from that little rant?" she kept chuckling and shook her head a little. "You are a rare man, Mordred."

Mordred chose to let the compliment pass without reading too deeply into it. He didn't want to get his heart broken quite that quickly. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Where is your mother?"

Senga sobered quickly. She looked away from him again and blinked hard.

"Forgive me," Mordred quickly said, gently putting a hand on her shoulder. "I should not have asked."

Shaking her head again, she sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. "It's all right. She was convicted of being a witch when I was three years of age. I barely remember her. Father says he sees her whenever he looks at me, but…"

"But you have no way of knowing for yourself, and that bothers you," he finished softly.

Senga met his gaze and simply stared for a few seconds. A sudden frown creased her brow. "Is that insight from being a Druid, or is it just you?"

Mordred almost took the easy way out, since she offered it to him like a neatly packaged gift. Instead he took a chance and told her the truth. "It is not a uniquely Druid talent. I am an orphan, Senga. When I was a boy, people would tell me how very much like my father I was. But I never even met him. At least you have some memories of your mother."

She smiled at him.

Not like she had before, though; no, this smile was something else entirely. This was a smile that made something unfurl in Mordred's chest, something warm and wholly unfamiliar. He felt as if he could drown in her eyes—no, not drown. _Fly_.

Senga sniffed quietly and looked down, wiping at the tears on her face.

The moment was broken. Mordred realized he'd been holding his breath.

"I'm sorry, Mordred," she said. "You said you wanted someone to talk to and all I've done is talk of myself." Senga reached into her basket and lifted a blanket out, spreading it over the grass. "Here, sit down. Tell me of your day. Or not, if that's not what you wanted to talk about."

They sat facing each other, close enough to touch but far enough to avoid touch as well. Mordred resisted the irrational urge to scoot closer.

"There isn't much to speak of, really," he finally started. "Training this morning did not go as well as I'd hoped, is all."

Concern sharpened Senga's gaze. "Are you hurt?"

"No, not at all. Nothing more than a wounded pride. That will heal in time."

She leaned forward and reached a hand toward his, but then withdrew it before touching him. "Anything you tell me will not leave this meadow."

Mordred ignored the strange mixture of disappointment that she hadn't touched him and tenderness welling up from his heart in response to her words. He studied the pattern on the roughly woven blanket, words spilling from his mouth without any true organization. "I'm a good fighter, but I still have much to learn. About everything. I acknowledge that, just as I acknowledge that the experience will come with time. But sometimes, when I lose a sparring match, I wish…I wish I could show them _everything_ I am capable of. I wish I could show them my magic. And I know, in my head, that I can't. But in my heart…" his voice finally faded away, unwilling to expose this secret.

"They are your friends," she finished. "You want them to know. And you wonder if they would still be your friends if they knew."

Mordred nodded, his gaze still locked firmly on the blanket. "Yes," he confirmed. "It scares me, sometimes. Knowing that they might turn their backs on me."

Senga stayed silent for a long while. When she did speak, her voice held nothing but compassion. "Mordred, please look at me."

Reluctantly, he raised his head to meet her gaze. A gaze that held kindness and a wisdom far beyond her years. She reached out and placed both of her hands on one of his.

"If the knights do reject you for being a Druid, for having magic, believe that there is a purpose. Perhaps years will pass before that purpose is revealed to you. It will hurt, possibly for a very long time, but know that it will not be for nothing. Have faith, Mordred. They may yet accept you, after all. There is no reason to worry over the multitude of possibilities that the future holds."

Mordred's hand tingled slightly where she was touching his skin. He could almost swear it felt like magic. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he realized that that was precisely what it was: magic. A very subtle magic, but magic even so.

Senga blinked then, looked around for a moment as if remembering where she was, and turned back to him. She looked at her hands, frowned a little, and withdrew them.

"Senga," he said quietly, not wanting to startle her. "Do you remember what you said?"

"Yes, but I…" her voice faded into uncertainty.

Mordred smiled a little. "I think you may have some of your grandmother's magic after all."

"No, this has never happened before. It would have happened before now, wouldn't it? If I really had magic?"

He grudgingly nodded. "Most likely, yes, but not necessarily. Can you describe what you felt just then, while you were talking?"

"I felt…" her voice trailed away and she frowned, a deep furrow growing between her brows as she struggled to find the right words. Mordred had to resist the urge to reach out and try to rub that frown away. "I'm not sure what I felt, honestly," she finally said. "Although I think I understand how a well feels now."

Mordred almost laughed but caught it just in time. "A well?"

"It's the only description I can think of. I felt as though someone was trying to draw something from me as water is drawn from a well. Whatever came up brought the words with it. But it wasn't uncomfortable at all. It was…rather peaceful, actually."

Mordred thought for a moment. "Have you ever had any prophetic dreams?"

Senga's eyes shot back to his. She looked as though she wanted to ask how he knew, but instead she nodded. "A few times when I was young, after my mother died, but none since I was five or six. I never told anyone about it, not even my father."

Mordred managed to get hold of his excitement before it slapped an idiotic grin on his face. "You _do_ have magic, Senga."

Her mouth dropped open in shock and she let out her breath in a _whoosh_.

"You most likely could have been a seer, if you had been trained to develop your gift."

"What—" her voice caught. Senga swallowed once, hard, before continuing. "What made it stop? And what made it come back now?"

Mordred shook his head ruefully. "Perhaps it retreated because you weren't trying to use it? And perhaps it came back now because…I don't know. It could have responded to the magic in my blood. It may continue to show itself in more prominent ways, it may grow stronger, or it may never surface again. There's no way to know for certain. If it does resurface, I swear to do all I can to help you learn to control it."

Senga smiled a little, but it reminded him of the smiles he put on for other people to keep them pacified.

"Does this bother you?" he asked. The cold hands of worry gripped his heart suddenly as he waited for her answer.

"Having magic?"

"Yes."

"No, it doesn't."

Relief flowed through him, strong enough that he half expected to see it leaking out of his skin. "Truly?"

"Magic is a tool. It can be used and it can be misused. The fault lies with whoever wields it, not the magic itself."

Mordred tilted his head, surprised at her answer.

"It's something my father has told me," Senga explained. "It's always made sense to me. You don't blame a sword for killing someone; you blame the person holding it. The same logic applies to magic."

"You and your father have discussed magic a lot, then?"

"A fair bit, yes."

He hesitated for a moment, but curiosity drove him forward. "Tell me: If it were up to you, how would you change Camelot's laws regarding magic?"

Senga pursed her lips and gave his question some thought before answering. "Well, allowing free practice of magic could end up being just as harmful as outlawing it entirely. There has to be some middle ground, some way to protect against people who would use it for selfish or harmful reasons while not persecuting people needlessly. I honestly don't know enough about writing laws to know how to do that."

Mordred found himself smiling again.

She smiled back, ducking her head just a bit. "Are you laughing at me, sir knight?"

He surprised himself by reaching out and tucking his fingers under her chin, gently lifting her head so he could meet her eyes, those beautiful grey eyes he could lose himself in. "Never."

Time seemed to slow. Mordred grew aware of little details he had not noticed before—the way her hair curled slightly against her neck where it had escaped its pins; the rose petal softness of her tanned skin underneath his fingers; the multitude of freckles splashed across her nose and cheekbones; the flecks of blue in her grey irises; the slightly crooked tweak of her smile; the fullness of her lips. His heart began to pound in his chest. He could feel magic stirring in his blood, prickling at his skin.

Mordred withdrew his hand and leaned back slightly, taking a breath to settle his nerves. "I believe you are on the right track, Senga. There should be some kind of regulation in place to protect people, both those with magic and those without."

She nodded once, the motion slightly stilted. "Thank you."

He noticed her breathing was a bit uneven and he wondered—wildly, hopefully—if he wasn't the only one so deeply affected by such a simple touch.

An awkward silence descended then. Thankfully it didn't last long.

Senga started laughing. It was a sound of disbelief, perhaps even unrealism.

Mordred lifted a brow, trying to school his expression into one of consternation. "Now who is laughing at whom, my lady?"

That only made her laugh harder. Which is, admittedly, what Mordred had been hoping for.

"Come now," he said. "At least tell me what I said."

Finally, she caught her breath. "It wasn't you. It seems…odd, is all. To be sitting here, just outside the walls of Camelot, discussing magic so openly."

Mordred smiled at that, nodding thoughtfully. "It feels good, though."

"What, to be breaking the law?"

"No!" he protested, perhaps a bit too quickly.

Senga chuckled again.

"What I meant to say, is that it feels good to have someone to talk to about magic. Someone who accepts me despite my magic."

She leaned forward and pinned him in place with her gaze; a sudden intensity flowed out of her and toward him, an unstoppable wave of almost tangible emotion. "Not 'despite,' Mordred. _Never_ that. Your magic is a part of you, no less than your heart or your lungs. Magic is not something to be _ashamed_ of. To be born with it, like you were, is a rare gift, much rarer than most people think. You may not be able to display it but you should never be ashamed of possessing it."

Mordred stared at her, shocked into silence. "I had no idea you cared so much," he finally got out.

Senga shrugged rather sheepishly and leaned back again. "As I said before, I tend to care too much about everything."

"That is just as rare a gift as magic, Senga," he said gently.

She smiled a little. Then she glanced at the sky. "It's nearly evening."

Disappointment nicked at Mordred's heart. "It is indeed."

"I should go. Those herbs still need gathering, after all," she said, but her movements as she stood were slow, reluctant even.

Mordred folded the blanket for her, his fingers loathe to let it go. "Do you need help?" he offered. "With the herbs, I mean."

Senga briefly hesitated before inclining her head in invitation. "Only if it isn't any trouble."

Silence settled over them as they foraged. It was not a silence that grated on the nerves or begged to be filled; rather, it was comfortable and easy and…familiar, somehow. Mordred had not felt anything like it since the time when he'd lived with other Druids.

He escorted her home, despite her protests. Her father met them at the door.

"Sir Mordred, wasn't it?" Aonghas said with a friendly smile. "Is anything wrong?"

"No, nothing wrong. I was simply escorting Senga home."

The burly blacksmith eyed him suspiciously as Senga slipped between them, disappearing into the small house. Mordred resisted the urge to fidget under Aonghas's scrutiny.

"Well," Aonghas finally said. "Stay for supper, lad."

"Oh no, I don't wish to impose," Mordred protested.

Aonghas ignored him. "You don't mind, do you, Senga?"

"Not at all," Senga spoke up from within the house. "There's always enough to share."

Aonghas clapped a hand on Mordred's shoulder, pulling him inside. Senga put him to work washing some herbs while she chopped vegetables and her father tended to a soup pot.

Mordred glanced around, taking in the threadbare blankets on the single bed, the curtain hanging from the ceiling to separate the back corner floor where Aonghas most likely slept, the nearly bare shelves, the worn bench and even more obviously worn table. Returning his attention to his job of washing herbs, he noticed Senga watching him.

"We've never needed anything more than what we have," she said quietly. "And like I said, there's always enough to share. Don't you pity us, sir knight, not for an instant."

"Truer words were never spoken, dearest," Aonghas dropped a kiss on top of her head. "Although she does get a bit fiery about it."

Senga snorted indelicately. "You say that as if you _don't_ get all fiery about it."

Aonghas chuckled easily and passed Mordred a knife. "Chop them finely, lad. You don't want them getting stuck in your teeth."

Mordred dutifully set himself to the task. And as they cooked together, ate together, laughed together; as Senga and Aonghas made him a temporary member of the family, Mordred felt…well, almost as if he'd come home.

* * *

 **Next chapter brings Arthur and the one after that brings pretty much everyone else, so stay tuned! Thanks for reading and please review!**


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: As promised, Arthur makes his first appearance in this chapter. Merlin and the knights will show up next chapter. Enjoy! Don't hesitate to tell me what you think!  
**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Three**_

"Rent was due two days ago, Aonghas. This isn't even half of what you owe me."

"I know, and I'll get you the rest. I swear it. Please, Tenric, give me another day."

Senga listened from inside the house and fought back her tears. She wiped at the ones that escaped, not wanting her father to know she had heard. But then he came in, and they looked at each other, and her tears came out in a flood.

Aonghas wrapped his arms around her, rocking side to side the same way he had when she was young. "We'll figure it out, Senga. We always do."

"I'll see if Evoric needs any help at the Rising Sun," she mumbled half-heartedly. "Even though he hasn't for the last three times I've asked. After he turns me down, I'll see what odd jobs I can find. I'll keep searching in the afternoon, too, instead of watching your stall."

Aonghas tightened his hold on her. "I hate to see you working so hard."

"It's no harder than you work."

"I know. That's what worries me. You shouldn't have to work as hard as I do. It's my place to protect you from that kind of life."

Senga leaned back a bit, just enough to look at him. "I don't have a choice, Father, and I don't mind a bit."

Now tears traced down Aonghas's face as well. "I know, Senga. I know. But I don't have to like it."

They stayed like that a moment longer, holding onto each other, before facing reality. Senga grabbed a couple chunks of old bread for them to eat on their way to Aonghas's rented forge.

"I miss your smile," Aonghas said softly. "You look so much like your mother when you smile."

Senga shook her head. "I don't think I have a smile in me today."

Aonghas looked around in the predawn light then pulled her toward a planter box of flowers. "I bet I can find one in you," he said with a wink. "Close your eyes."

She deliberately twisted her face up into an overly quizzical expression, making him chuckle. After a moment she obeyed and shut her eyes. She heard him whisper something, a word or two she did not understand, and she felt a tingle in the air.

"All right, open up and see."

Senga opened her eyes and gasped. Every flower in the box had bloomed, spreading their colorful petals to a sun that wasn't even shining yet. She felt a delighted smile grow slowly across her face. "I didn't know you had…that skill," she whispered.

Aonghas wrapped an arm around her and held her close to his side. "It's just the one that I know. The only one I've ever been able to do. I was saving it for a special occasion."

"This is a special occasion?" she asked incredulously.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I needed to see you smile, and you needed a reason to."

They continued on to his forge, where she helped him set everything up for a day's work. "I'll be back around midday to bring you something for a meal," she said as she turned to go.

"Senga," Aonghas called.

"Yes?"

"That Mordred is a good lad, isn't he?"

Senga turned back around to look at her father, but he was staring into the fire.

"He'd take care of you, wouldn't he? If I can't get enough work for the both of us here in Camelot? He'd pull some strings up there in the castle, find you a job as a lady's maid or something?"

Senga walked over to him, putting a hand on his arm. "You _will_ find the work, Father. I have faith in you. You won't have to leave."

He looked down at her with eyes full of tears. "You didn't answer me."

Senga thought of Mordred, of the way he had looked at her in the meadow, the way he had touched her, and she smiled.

"That's all the answer I need," Aonghas said.

"But I didn't even say anything!"

"You didn't have to." He bent down to her level, the teasing smile on his face at odds with the tears that still threatened to fall. "At least I know an easier way to get you smiling now."

Senga half-heartedly swatted his arm. "Don't go getting any ideas, Father. He's a knight, after all. I have a rule against looking at knights. Arrogant pigs, the lot of them."

"Now don't you go getting your head set against it," he retorted. "I saw the way he looked at you last night."

She ducked her head, blushing. "Don't be ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous about it? I saw the way you were smiling at him, too. Looked like the way your mother used to smile at me when we were courting. You're thinking he's the exception to your arrogant pig rule."

Senga shook her head in exasperation and started walking away. "I am not discussing this with my father. See you at midday."

His booming laugh chased her out of the forge.

Senga made her way to the Rising Sun, where Evoric took pity on her and let her sweep out all his empty rooms for some spare coins. After she finished there, she found an elderly lady willing to pay her for helping throw together a pitiful soup that was mostly water. Senga was reluctant to accept her coin, seeing how very little she had, but the old woman insisted. By then it was time to bring her father some food for midday. On her way back to the forge, she found a couple customers for him: one needed horseshoes and the other needed new tines for a pitchfork. In all, it was a more successful morning than most. Senga was in high spirits when she fetched some simple bread and cheese from home.

"Father?" she called as she entered the forge. "I found two orders for you. Easy work, but solid coin."

Silence greeted her, thick and heavy.

"Father?" she called again. Still nothing. She took a deep breath to calm herself, but the effort was a bit futile.

He never left before late in the day. _Never._ He barely even paused for food. And he _never_ left his forge unattended. Senga did not know where he could possibly be, unless…

Unless Tenric had changed his mind about waiting on rent.

But no, that could not be it, because her father would have been at home.

"Senga!"

She turned toward the call, still too shocked and confused to even recognize the voice.

"Senga, there you are," Mordred came running up to her, slightly out of breath. "I've been searching everywhere for you. Your father's been arrested."

Her mind went blank at that. She struggled to make her mouth form coherent words. "Arrested for what?"

Mordred's mouth flattened into a thin line. "Sorcery."

* * *

Arthur paced in front of his throne as the prisoner was brought in. The prisoner, a man accused of sorcery, looked nothing like Arthur expected. He was a large man, larger than Percival even, and he held himself to his full height without conveying arrogance. His hands were calloused, his face was worn and lined, and his dark hair was shot through with swatches of grey. He wore a heavy apron over his clothes, which were deeply soot-stained from long hours working a forge. In short, the prisoner looked everything like a blacksmith and nothing like a sorcerer. Arthur suspected he did not know the full story.

"What is your name?" Arthur asked.

"Aonghas, sire," came the response in a voice so deep it nearly rumbled.

"Tell me, Aonghas, how do you make your living?"

"I am a blacksmith, sire. Always have been."

"You have been accused of practicing magic within Camelot. What say you to this charge?"

Aonghas wiped at his face.

With a fair bit of shock, Arthur realized the man was crying.

"It is the truth, sire," Aonghas said quietly.

"You willingly admit your guilt?" Arthur asked, baffled.

"If you would give me a chance to explain, sire…"

The doors of the throne room opened then, cutting off whatever the blacksmith wished to say, and Mordred entered with a rather plain young woman. Arthur waved them over. "Sir Mordred, who is this?"

"This is Senga, my lord. The daughter of the accused."

Arthur raised his brows skeptically, glancing from the petite young woman to the hulking blacksmith and finding it hard to see any resemblance.

The girl raised her hands to her face when she saw her father in chains. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes.

"Senga, what are you doing here?" Aonghas's voice was full of regret. "I didn't want you to see this."

"This is my fault, Father," the young woman sobbed.

"No, dearest, it isn't," the blacksmith murmured. His entire countenance gentled, transforming him almost beyond recognition.

Arthur was suddenly reminded of Gwen's father. He swallowed once, hard, but the lump in his throat remained. "Thank you for bringing her, Sir Mordred," he nodded to his youngest knight.

Mordred bowed slightly and backed away, putting a hand on Senga's arm to draw her back as well.

"Sire?"

Arthur turned back to the blacksmith.

"Please, may I be given a chance to explain myself, sire?"

Arthur did not even have to consider. "Of course."

"It's just me and Senga at home, sire. Brisen, my wife…she was falsely accused of being a witch and Uther had her executed when Senga was just three years of age. Raising a child alone is not an easy thing to do, sire. But I make no excuses. I've worked hard all these years, and so has she. I've never once used magic before today."

More and more, Arthur found himself thinking of Gwen and her father and the nasty situation they had found themselves in so many years ago. "Why did you choose to use magic now, after all those years of obeying the law?" he asked. It seemed a waste of energy; the laws about magic were clear and there was only one way this could end—but Arthur _needed_ to know all the facts.

"I'm barely finding enough work to pay rent on my forge. Most times I can't buy enough food for the both of us. Senga does what she can to help, but she can't find any work either. I may have to leave Camelot to look for work. I don't want to lose Senga, but if I have to leave, I want her to stay here. Camelot is the best chance she has of making an honest living, sire. She's…" Aonghas's voice broke slightly, and he heaved a sigh. "She's all I have, and I don't want to lose her, but if I can't find enough work here in Camelot then I don't have a choice."

Arthur hated himself for doing so, but he hardened his heart and his voice. "Why did you use magic, blacksmith?"

"I just wanted to see her smile, sire."

A whisper buzzed through the room at that unexpected answer. Arthur frowned, confused once again. "What do you mean?"

"I used magic to make some flowers bloom. She was so sad this morning and I just wanted to see her smile again. It's the only spell I know, sire, I swear it on my dear Brisen's grave, and I won't ever use it again while magic is outlawed in your kingdom."

Arthur looked around the room, taking in the faces of the people he trusted most. Some were compassionate, some understanding; others were distrustful and suspicious. Finally, he looked at Gwen. She stared him down, this wonderful queen of his, and did not need to say anything to make her point. He could almost hear her voice in his head.

 _"He does not deserve to die, Arthur. There has to be a better way,"_ she would say to him later, but would never say front of the entire court. Not unless she felt she had to.

"I need some time to think," Arthur finally said, waving at the guards. "You will spend the night in the dungeon and receive your sentence first thing tomorrow."

"May I speak with my daughter a moment?" Aonghas requested.

Arthur hesitated before nodding his consent.

Senga walked up to her father, stopping arm's length away, tears still running unchecked.

"Did you find any work this morning?" Aonghas asked quietly.

She nodded.

"Don't bother paying my rent."

"Father," she protested, but he continued.

"Go buy yourself some food. I know we're running low."

"But Father," she pleaded.

Aonghas shook his head and smiled through his tears. "Don't you worry about me, dearest. Take care of yourself now."

Arthur watched the guards lead him away, watched Senga cry completely unabashedly before the entire court, and he could feel his heart breaking. Because there really was only one possible outcome.

* * *

 _ **Thanks so much for reading! Please review!**_


	5. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: A typo just about this an "Uthor's" note. That's a slightly disturbing thought. There's a reason I set this story in series 5. _After_ he died. But now I'm babbling about a typo. So without further ado, here's the next chapter. Enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Four**_

Merlin paced around Gaius's chambers, desperately trying to come up with any kind of plan to save the blacksmith that did not involve sneaking him out of the dungeon. So far he was drawing a blank.

"You're thinking about that blacksmith and his daughter, aren't you?" Gaius asked.

"There has to be some way to help them," Merlin insisted. "Some path that doesn't end in execution or exile. All he did was make flowers bloom for his daughter. Surely Arthur won't kill him for that."

Gaius shrugged. "I don't want to see him executed either, Merlin. But the law is clear: all sorcerers practicing magic within Camelot are to be put to death."

Merlin's head snapped up. "That's it!" he cried. He darted out the door, pausing only long enough to send the perplexed Gaius a smile. "You are a genius," Merlin declared, and then he disappeared.

* * *

"Go talk to him," Gwen finally said.

"I'm sorry, dear, what did you say?" Arthur mumbled without even bothering to look up from his supper.

Gwen sighed. "I said, Merlin is getting married."

Arthur choked on his wine. "What?!"

She smiled, letting him know she didn't mean it, and he sighed.

"I'm sorry, Guinevere. I'm horrible company tonight."

"What I really said was that you should go talk to Aonghas," she clarified.

Arthur shook his head. "He used magic within Camelot. He's admitted his guilt. The law is clear. There's nothing I can do."

"You _want_ to do something, though, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

Gwen reached for a bundle of grapes. "Well, that's what has you so distracted, isn't it? Surely a blacksmith who only knows enough magic to make flowers bloom isn't a threat to the kingdom. There must be a way to avoid executing him."

"I've considered that, I truly have," Arthur insisted. "I'm not sure there's anything I can do."

"If you can do anything, Arthur," she said, her voice gentling, "please do it."

Arthur regarded her silently for a while. "He reminds me of your father."

She nodded her agreement, not trusting her voice.

"I will go talk to him, and I'll have Geoffrey do some quick research in the law books," Arthur decided. Then, after a pause, he added, "If there isn't a way to help Aonghas, at least we can help his daughter."

Gwen looked up at that, curious.

"You need a new servant, don't you? If you're willing to train her, that is. And she can't possibly be as bad as mine."

She smiled. Two years had passed since she'd last had a maid and they both knew perfectly well that Gwen did _not_ need one. "Yes, I believe I would like to have a maid again," she said, feeling slightly better about the situation. But only slightly. A young girl still had a very real chance of losing a father. Gwen desperately hoped that Arthur would find some room in the laws for mercy.

* * *

 _Whack!_

Mordred flinched like a scared rabbit as the glove connected with the side of his head.

"Wake up, Mordred!" Gwaine called from the other side of the armory. "If you keep letting Percival hit you, he'll start getting ideas about who to use as target practice next."

Mordred forced a chuckle as he bent to pick up the glove. He flicked his wrist and sent it flying back to Percival, who caught it easily.

"You're very quiet today, Mordred," the big knight observed. "What's on your mind?"

He started to refute the claim, say it was nothing, but then he paused. They would find out about his views on magic eventually, he knew—or rather, he hoped. Perhaps it would be best to ease them into the revelation instead of simply shouting _I'm a Druid!_ from the rooftops one day. And this was the first opportunity he'd had to see if there could be any leniency toward magic from the other knights.

So Mordred took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. "I've been thinking about the blacksmith, actually."

His words were water on fire, dousing the mood in the armory from a bright blaze to sodden ashes.

Undaunted, Mordred continued. "You don't think Arthur will execute him, do you?"

The other knights exchanged weighted looks.

Leon was the first to speak up. "I think it's safe to say everyone here pities the man, Mordred. But the laws of Camelot are clear."

"All he wanted was to make his daughter smile," Mordred argued. "Surely the king will realize that doesn't make him a threat to the kingdom."

"The lad's got a point, Leon," Gwaine spoke up. "Only knowing one spell doesn't make a man a sorcerer."

"I'm with Gwaine," Elyan said. "My own father was executed because he took the wrong man's gold. I'd hate to see this girl lose her father the same way. It's not a wrongful accusation this time, obviously, but…but it feels wrong. Mordred's right, he shouldn't die for making flowers bloom."

Leon considered for a moment. "Where did he learn the spell, though? Is there any proof he won't learn more?"

Everyone turned to Percival, who looked up from sharpening a sword. "What's everyone looking at me for?"

"We're waiting for you to throw your lot in with either Leon or us three," Gwaine explained, speaking slowly, as if to a child or an idiot.

Percival flicked his wrist and his glove went flying toward Gwaine's face. Gwaine ducked only just in time.

"What say you, Percival?" Leon asked with a chuckle.

Percival looked down at his sword again. "You all know how much I hate magic. Morgana's sorcery killed my entire family."

Mordred felt his throat tighten just a bit. Leon's reasoning was sound and Mordred had been expecting something of the sort from him. Leon was first and foremost a man of logic. But Gwaine and Elyan had surprised him a bit. He had prepared himself for a much harsher reaction from them. This discussion was going surprisingly well so far. But now there was Percival, who hated magic and had every reason to; after all, he had never seen the good it could do, only the bad.

"This isn't right," Percival finally muttered.

Everyone stared at him.

"Just this once," he continued, seeming to have to force the words out of his mouth, "I don't think the man should die for using magic."

Leon sighed. "I appear to be woefully outnumbered."

"Forget the law for a few seconds, Leon," Elyan persuaded. "If you had to light the pyre and kill this man yourself, would your conscience be at peace?"

Leon considered once again.

Mordred almost held his breath as he waited.

"No, it would not," Leon admitted.

"Can we talk to the king about this?" Mordred asked, allowing himself a small smile while trying to keep his excitement at bay. This could potentially be a massive step in the right direction for his people.

Leon shook his head at that. "Arthur's already agonizing over this decision. We won't be of any help."

"How do you know that?"

"Because, Mordred, he would have sentenced the blacksmith immediately otherwise."

* * *

"Do you swear to be completely honest with me?" Arthur asked.

Aonghas nodded fervently. "I would never lie to you, sire."

"Swear to me."

"I swear, sire, on Brisen's grave, on my mother's grave, on my daughter's _life_ I swear to speak nothing but the truth."

"Where did you learn the spell you cast?"

"From my mother, sire. She was a high priestess of the Old Religion. She tried to teach me magic, but I was never any good at it. Casting even the simplest of spells would take so much of my energy that it nearly killed me."

"What happened to your mother?"

"Both my parents were killed during the Great Purge, sire."

"Why were you spared?"

Aonghas paused at that, shrugging his shoulders. "I suppose because I've always been so terrible at anything magical, sire."

"But you are a Druid, are you not? My father was merciless against your people."

"I have Druid blood, sire, but only from my mother. My father was a common man of Camelot. I always felt more at home here than with the Druids. It isn't so rare for a child among the Druids to be born without magic, but they can usually learn to practice it. I was too much of an oddity among her people, so instead I took up my father's craft. I was fifteen during the Purge, sire, and people knew me to be a blacksmith. Perhaps that is why I was spared."

"And you say your wife was falsely accused of being a witch?"

"Yes, sire. I never saw her practice any magic in all the years I knew her. She abided by all of Camelot's laws."

"Why was she charged?"

"She bought a charm from a man passing through the kingdom. It was a Druid charm, sire. Someone passed word along to the king and that was all the proof he needed of sorcery."

"And how were you spared that time?"

Aonghas's voice caught, the memory obviously still painful. "She claimed she was using the charm to try to kill me and Senga, sire."

Arthur was stunned. "Why would she say that?"

"Because she was trying to save us," the blacksmith said with a quiet sob. "Brisen was the smartest person I ever knew. She figured that if Uther thought she was trying to kill us, we would be seen as nothing more than innocent victims of sorcery. And she guessed right, too. Uther spared us."

Arthur had to let that sink in for a moment. He did not often get the chance to see his father's fanaticism from someone who was not a fanatic themselves. And his father had been seized by fanaticism, Arthur knew now. Any campaign that turned a peaceful people to war could be nothing less. Arthur shrugged off those thoughts for now. They did not apply to this situation. He leaned forward, holding the blacksmith's gaze. "I have one final question for you, Aonghas. Do you know _any_ other spells than the one you used to make flowers bloom?"

"No, sire," the blacksmith said, firm and resolute and without even the barest hint of a lie. "I do not."

Arthur nodded, lost in his thoughts, and backed away from the cell. "Thank you, Aonghas. You've given me much to consider."

* * *

Senga tried to obey her father's request, she truly did, but buying food was difficult when she had no appetite. Especially when her mind was still trying to tell her that the money should be going toward rent. So she went home empty handed.

Sinking down onto her thin mattress, she stared at the spot on the floor where her father usually slept. She didn't know what she'd do without him. They had clung to each other over the years, both working themselves to the bone just so they could survive. Senga had never had anyone else but her father and a few hazy memories of her mother. No elderly ladies had taken her under their wing, no men had shown any interest in her—and neither had she shown any in them. She'd been too busy.

Senga took a deep breath and forced her thoughts into order.

Looking around at her nearly bare home, she took stock of what she could afford to sell and what she needed to keep. She supposed she would have to ask Mordred if he could get her a job as a servant or a cook or even a scullery maid in the castle. There was no one in the lower town who could afford to hire her, she knew. She hated even considering taking advantage of their budding friendship like that, but it was her only option.

A knock on the door interrupted her planning.

Senga went to answer but then thought better of opening the door right away. Her father was no longer around to scare off robbers, after all. "Who is it?" she called.

"Mordred."

She did not want to dwell on how reassuring the sound of his voice was and instead immediately invited him in.

"I brought you some food," he said, setting a parcel on her table. "I wasn't sure what all you like, so I got the basics: bread, cheese, a few vegetables."

Tears stung at the backs of her eyes. "Mordred, you didn't have to."

He surveyed her shelves, nodding to himself. "I suspected you wouldn't get food for yourself, and it seems I was correct. And since I ate some of your precious stores last night, the least I can do is replace them."

Then he turned his breathtakingly beautiful eyes on her and she momentarily lost track of her thoughts.

"Are you all right, Senga?" he asked softly.

The tears started spilling again. She made no effort to stop them. Her father had always said crying was a good thing, not something to be ashamed of. She couldn't remember ever trying to keep tears in check. "No, I'm not. My father's about to be executed. There's nowhere for me to work in the lower town except as a whore. I'll have to sell most of what little I have until I can find someone in the citadel willing to hire me."

Mordred stepped toward her, reaching out a hand. He paused before touching her. "May I?" he requested.

Senga nodded, suddenly unable to speak for reasons she did not want to consider right now.

He took another step closer and gently wiped the tears from her face. "I think I can get you hired in the kitchens at the castle. It won't be easy work, but Arthur pays all his servants fairly."

Senga stared at the man in front of her, utterly baffled by his inexplicable kindness that demanded nothing in return. He was kind because he could be and he didn't need any other reason. "I've never known anyone like you, Mordred," she admitted.

A small smile curled his lips upward. "Well, I've never known anyone like you, either. Tell me how to help you, please."

She considered for a moment. "Would you distract me?"

Her request seemed to catch him off guard. "Distract you? How?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Help me to not think about my father dying tomorrow."

Mordred thought for a moment and then gestured to the table. "Very well, lovely lady. I shall tell you tales of the Druids as I cook your supper."

"May I make another request?" she asked as she sat down.

"Of course."

"I wish to hear about one Druid in particular."

Mordred paused halfway through sorting through the vegetables he had bought. "Which one would that be, my lady?"

She smiled. "I'm no lady, Mordred, as you well know, so quit calling me that. And I want to hear about you."

He looked at her again, pinning her in place with the intensity of his gaze. "Are you sure? It's not the most heartwarming tale."

"You ended up here, though, didn't you? How bad could it be?"

Mordred smiled slowly, a smile that reached all the way to his eyes; a smile that made warmth curl through Senga's chest and spread out toward her toes and fingers. "You have an excellent point."

And so he told her his story. He spoke mostly of what it was like growing up a Druid, always learning, always studying, always developing his magic, but also always on the move and always running from outsiders. Then he spoke of the day Camelot knights came looking for Morgana and ended up slaughtering the entire camp. He'd only been twelve years old, he explained, and only just barely managed to escape with his life. He spoke of his many years alone, wandering from town to town, often spending weeks at a time alone in the forest. He told her how he learned to hide his magic and the tattoo on his chest that marked him a Druid for life. He explained how he found Morgana and then turned on her the very same day after realizing how much hatred festered in her soul.

Senga soaked it all in, only interrupting here and there with a question, and she was amazed at what he had survived and all he had seen. She could not help watching him as he cooked and talked; she admired the graceful way he moved in her threadbare home, the way he grew more expressive as he relaxed into telling his tale. He had been so hard to read yesterday, as if he had learned to hide more than just his magic from people. But those walls he had carefully constructed around his heart were slowly coming down tonight. And all the while he was talking, she never once thought about her father.

Mordred did not finish his tale until long after Senga finished her supper. When he finally stopped talking, they worked together to wash everything.

"That was surprisingly tasty," she said with a teasing smile. "I had no idea you could cook."

"I lived on my own in the forest, remember? My options were learn to cook or die of starvation."

"Well I for one am very grateful you made the choice you did," she declared.

He hesitated, glancing to her door and then back to her. "I should go."

Senga escorted him the two steps to the door. "Thank you, Mordred," she said as he stepped outside. "For cooking and sharing your story and…" _Being you,_ she wanted to add, but the words stuck in her throat.

He stopped and turned toward her, his gaze wandering from her eyes to her lips and back again.

"Thank you for everything," she whispered.

Mordred bowed slightly. "You are most welcome. A guard will come fetch you in the morning."

Reality came crashing down on her heart like a block of ice and she had to take a moment to remember how to breathe. "Good night, Mordred."

"Good night, Senga."

She shut the door and leaned against it for a long while, lost in a confusing swirl of emotions.

* * *

"Arthur!" Merlin cried, barging straight into the king's chambers without so much as a knock.

"What is it, Merlin?" Arthur asked disinterestedly from his desk.

Merlin dropped a huge, incredibly dusty tome right on top of whatever Arthur was working on. The loud _thump_ and the ensuing cloud of dust that engulfed the king made Merlin smile.

"What the hell is _that_?" Arthur demanded.

"That is a book of the laws of Camelot," Merlin said, feeling very proud of himself. He opened the book and began leafing through the pages, searching for one in particular. "One of them, anyway. You'll never guess what I found in here."

"Your reason for living?" Arthur guessed dryly.

"I found the definition of 'sorcerer'."

Arthur frowned. "What good does that do anyone?"

"Hear me out. The law clearly states that all sorcerers found within Camelot must be put to death, right?"

Arthur sighed and pushed himself away from his desk. "This is about Aonghas, isn't it? You're trying to find a way to save him."

Merlin smiled again when he found what he was looking for. "Arthur, listen to me—"

"It's not possible, Merlin. I've considered every angle, every loophole that could exist, and there simply aren't any. Every sorcerer found in Camelot must be put to death. That is the law. There's nothing I can do."

Merlin pointed to the book. "That law is written on page five hundred thirty-nine of this book. _This_ page of this book. And it goes on to define what a sorcerer is."

Arthur glanced at the book and then looked at Merlin expectantly. When Merlin didn't speak or even move, Arthur arched his brow in disbelief. "You expect _me_ to read it?"

"Yes."

"Why can't you just tell me?"

Merlin sighed in exasperation. "Wouldn't it be better if the king read it himself rather than accept the word of a servant?"

Arthur grumbled under his breath as he leaned over the book, tracing a finger down the page until he reached the law in question. "Any and all sorcerers found practicing magic within Camelot are to be executed within two days of capture, no matter their religion, sex, or age," Arthur read. "The word 'sorcerers' meaning anyone who…"

Arthur appeared dumbfounded.

Merlin tried his best not to laugh. Seeing that expression on Arthur's face would never get old.

"Merlin," Arthur said slowly, "I never thought I would say this to you, but I think you may have just saved a man's life."

* * *

 _ **Thanks so much for reading! Don't hesitate to let me know what you think :)**_


	6. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: All right, no cliffhanger this time. I promise not to leave you with another cliffhanger until...chapter 7. At least now you'll know when to expect it :) Anyway, I hope you enjoy chapter 5!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Five**_

Mordred met Arthur outside the throne room. "Sire," he acknowledged with a small bow.

"You don't have to bow every time you see me, Mordred," Arthur noted.

"What can I say, my lord? I was raised to be painstakingly polite."

"Well, your parents were hugely successful on that point."

Mordred had never said it was his parents who raised him, but he felt no need to say as much.

"You look troubled," Arthur said. "What's on your mind?"

Mordred paused, deliberating, but was unable to bring himself to lie to his friend. "The blacksmith, Aonghas. I met him, sire. Before he was arrested, that is. I bought a dagger from him. He seemed like a good man. I…do not wish to see him die today."

Arthur smiled a little and turned to enter the throne room—but then turned back to Mordred. "You bought a dagger from him?"

"Yes, my lord."

"The one on your belt now?"

Mordred unsheathed the dagger in question and offered it to Arthur hilt first.

"How long have you had it?" Arthur asked as he tested the balance and the edge.

"Only about a fortnight, sire, but it saved my life in that last scuffle we had with the Saxons."

"It is finely crafted," Arthur declared as he handed it back. "Come, we are keeping everyone waiting."

They entered the hall together, Arthur making his way to the throne and Mordred moving to stand with the other knights. He searched for Senga and found her on the opposite side of the room, twisting her hands nervously and gnawing on her lower lip. Mordred tried catching her eye, but she kept looking between her father and Arthur and did not seem to notice him at all.

"I apologize for the delay," Arthur began. "This is a…unique case, as I'm sure everyone in this room knows. For those who do not know, this," he gestured to the elder gentleman at his side, "is Geoffrey of Monmouth, court genealogist and keeper of the royal library. The book he bears is one of the books of the laws of Camelot, so that anyone who wishes to verify my words today may do so."

Mordred frowned at that. He glanced at Merlin and saw the warlock trying to hide a smile—which confirmed his suspicions. Something highly unexpected was about to happen.

"One of our laws clearly states that all sorcerers practicing magic within the kingdom, no matter their age, sex, or religion, are to be put to death within two days of capture," Arthur continued. "The law goes on to state that a sorcerer is any person in possession of sufficient magical knowledge to threaten the safety of Camelot or its people."

A faint flicker of hope sparked to life in Mordred's heart. He glanced at Senga again and saw hope growing in her eyes as well.

"You are not a sorcerer, Aonghas," Arthur concluded. "You are a blacksmith. You have sworn upon your wife's grave that you only have knowledge of one magical spell, and I believe you."

Shocked whispers hissed throughout the room. Mordred paid them no mind, focusing instead on Arthur, who was holding up a hand for silence.

"However, you have still broken the laws forbidding the practice of magic within this kingdom. For that crime…" Arthur hesitated here, glancing at Senga and then at Gwen before turning back to the prisoner. "For that crime, I sentence you to three days in the stocks."

There were no whispers this time, only a profoundly stunned silence. A silence so complete that when Geoffrey whispered to the king, Mordred could hear him clearly.

"Sire, no one has received less than death for magic since the Great Purge."

Arthur seemed to realize that everyone in the room had heard Geoffrey, because he did not bother lowering his voice. "Be that as it may, Geoffrey, my decision is lawful and final."

Mordred wanted to laugh, to cry, to scream for joy; he wanted to shout from the highest tower that magic was no long a guaranteed death sentence in Camelot. But since no one would understand how strongly he felt—except Senga and perhaps Merlin—he did none of those things. He did allow himself a small smile.

"Father!" Senga cried, running up to him and throwing her arms around him. Aonghas bent down, tucking his head on top of hers, and his entire body seemed to fold around her. He murmured something against her hair that Mordred could not make out.

"Unchain him," Arthur instructed the guards.

They hesitated, glancing uneasily at the large man.

Arthur smiled ever so slightly. "Will you try to escape, Aonghas?"

The blacksmith looked up and smiled through the tears rolling down his face. "No, my king. I will gladly stay and serve my sentence."

Arthur gestured to the guards and they reluctantly unlocked the manacles.

Aonghas wrapped his arms around Senga and lifted her off her feet, spinning her around as if she were still a small child. She laughed and clung to him, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. To Mordred, she looked as though she feared it was only a dream. When Aonghas set her back on her feet, she turned to Arthur with an expression equal parts disbelief and joy.

"Thank you, sire," she said, sniffing a bit and wiping at her tears. Senga shook her head, looking like she wanted to say more but could not find the words; instead, she dipped into a surprisingly graceful curtsy. "Thank you."

Arthur nodded to her but addressed her father. "Your sentence is to begin immediately."

The guards took hold of his arms to escort him out. True to his word, Aonghas made no move to resist.

"But first, there is one more problem I wish to address," Arthur said.

Everyone in the room turned to the king.

Mordred quickly glanced at Merlin, but the warlock seemed as surprised as everyone else.

"One of my knights uses a dagger made by your hand. I inspected the workmanship and found it to be very high quality. You are not just a blacksmith; you are an _excellent_ blacksmith. Why are you not working in my forges?"

Aonghas shrugged. "I simply do not know the right people, my lord."

"Well," Arthur declared rather imperiously, "I require the absolute best craftsmen in the kingdom for the weapons and armor my knights and I rely on. When your sentence is complete, I expect you to report for work in the royal forge. You will be paid the same as any other man there."

Senga made a sound of pure joy and turned to her father, throwing her arms around him once again as the tears continued to course down her face. "You don't have to leave now," she whispered.

Aonghas laughed; it was the laugh of a man who had thought all hope had fled and instead realized all his worries had vanished in an instant.

Watching them, Mordred could not help but smile. He felt tears prickling the backs of his eyes and forced them away. Later, when he would not have to explain it to anyone, he would let himself cry the tears of joy that they so openly shed; for now, he held himself as a knight of Camelot was expected to.

"As for you," Arthur said, looking directly at Senga—then he paused for a moment. "Remind me of your name, first, if you will."

Senga struggled to regain a semblance of composure. "Senga, my lord."

"Queen Guinevere has been unable to replace her lady's maid for the past two years. We agreed that you should be given a chance to fill the position, if you are willing."

Senga looked stunned. "Yes, of course, my lord," she finally stammered. "Thank you again, so very much, for everything."

Mordred ducked his head to hide his growing smile as Aonghas was escorted from the room. This had gone much better than he had dared hope.

"Merlin," Arthur called.

"Yes, sire?" the man in question stepped forward.

"Introduce Senga to Gwen, would you? I'm due for a training session with my knights."

"Of course, sire," Merlin said with a grin.

The knights gathered around Arthur as the rest of the court returned to their regular responsibilities.

"I believe you may have set a new precedent, sire," Leon said carefully.

"Yes, I know," Arthur sighed. "My father was so…severe regarding magic and he taught me to be as well, but I am starting to wonder if it should not be treated similarly to other crimes."

"What do you mean, sire?" Mordred asked.

"I mean claims of sorcery should be investigated more thoroughly to find the motives of people practicing it. We require sufficient evidence and witnesses when someone is accused of murder and other crimes that have death sentences. Perhaps we should require the same with magic," Arthur concluded and looked expectantly at the group of knights.

"Well, I agree," Gwaine, as usual, was the first to speak.

"Of course you say that now," said Elyan with a perfectly straight face. "And the next time some sorcerer tosses fire at us, you'll be swearing an end to all magic everywhere."

"Well that's an entirely different situation," Gwaine protested.

"Sire, does this mean you are considering allowing magic into Camelot?" Percival asked, ignoring Gwaine completely.

"No, Percival, I am not saying that. I am only saying that relentless persecution can only cause more harm than good. It will only make sorcerers more hostile toward us and more likely to ally with people like Morgana."

Mordred was careful to keep the smile from his face. Inside, however, he was glowing with happiness.

* * *

"You're looking very proud of yourself," Gaius observed as he set supper on the table.

Merlin grinned and dug into his food. "I saved a man's life today, Gaius. And I didn't even have to break the law."

"And the king's prejudice against magic seems to be wearing down a bit."

"Exactly," Merlin declared. "What's not to be happy about?"

Gaius knew something that would dampen Merlin's mood, but he chose to keep it to himself. If he told Merlin about the way Mordred had looked at the blacksmith's daughter, Merlin would immediately be determined to dislike the girl. Gaius did not understand why Merlin hated the Druid lad so much. Merlin of all people should understand how many different paths the future can take.

"What are you thinking about so hard?" Merlin asked.

"It's nothing," Gaius said. "Tell me about the blacksmith's daughter, what was her name again?"

"Senga."

"Senga, that's right. How do you think she'll do as Gwen's servant?"

Merlin shrugged. "She's smart and learns fast. It's only been one day and she's already a better servant than I am. Seems like a sweet girl. She is quite possibly the most open person I've ever met. One look at her face and you know exactly what she's thinking." Merlin paused and frowned slightly at Gaius. "Why? You're not worried about having another servant betray us, are you?"

"No, not after what Arthur did for her and her father today." Gaius regarded Merlin solemnly. "This one I know we can trust."

Merlin nodded and turned his attention back to his food. "Let's hope so."

* * *

The next morning before dawn, Mordred waited for Senga in what he had started thinking of as their meadow. She did not keep him waiting long. Silently emerging from the trees like some enchantress of legend, she strode quickly toward him. The hood of her cloak was up, hiding her expression; she reached up and pushed it back to reveal a face-splitting grin.

Mordred felt a rush of indescribable emotion at seeing her so happy. He could not contain the laughter that bubbled up within him. Senga must have heard it, because she laughed too and starting running toward him, practically launching herself into the air when she got closer. He caught her easily, holding her tighter than he should have and spinning around in a circle. Her laughter rang in his ears as he set her on her feet.

"Mordred, I still can't believe it," Senga whispered, still holding tightly onto him. "I'm a lady's maid, my father will be working in the royal forge the day after tomorrow, and…"

"And what?" he asked.

"You're here to share it with," she murmured almost shyly. Senga drew back just enough to look him in the eye. "You're the only person who truly understands how much of a relief all this is, how happy I am. You're the only person I can celebrate with."

Suddenly, she took his face in her hands, stretched up on her toes, and kissed him on the lips.

Mordred's mind froze. She had done it so quickly it barely counted as a kiss. He was too surprised to even react, let alone think.

Senga released him and tried to step away, but Mordred only tightened his hold on her. He would have let her go, if she struggled—but she didn't.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbled, blushing furiously and refusing to look at him. "I shouldn't have done that. It was purely on impulse, it won't happen again."

He leaned down until his face was level with hers, forcing her to look at him. "What if I want it to happen again?" he asked quietly.

Senga stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief, likely waiting for him to take it back—and then she bit her lip nervously when she realized he was serious. "Would you mind clarifying yourself, sir knight? Just so we can avoid any further confusion."

Mordred chuckled. He had a feeling life would never be dull with her around. "I want you to kiss me again, Senga, because if you don't, I'll have to kiss you."

She sucked in a breath at his bluntness. And since she just stood there, Mordred had to make good on his word. He kissed her gently, slowly, tenderly—as best he knew how, that is, since he'd never kissed anyone before. Senga sighed and melted against him, her fingers slipping into his hair as she kissed him back. His magic started sizzling in his veins until his entire body buzzed with sensation.

Mordred withdrew first, needing a moment to catch his breath. "I could fall in love with you, Senga, so very easily," he breathed. "I was yours from the moment we met." He laughed suddenly, giddily, and slid his hands up and down her back just a little ways. "Do you feel this? Even my magic reacts to you."

Then he forced himself to take a deep breath and a step back, moving his hands to take hers. "But I don't want to rush into this," he said carefully. "You—well, we both have just had two very emotional days. I know nothing will change how I feel about you, but I need to be sure this is what you want, too."

Senga's eyes filled with tears.

In that moment, Mordred was terrified he'd said the wrong thing. He felt his heart stop beating as he waited for her response.

"Well you can't expect me to walk away after a confession like _that_ , can you?" she said with a smile.

His heart resumed beating, but still he waited.

Senga sighed a little and the smile slipped away. "I've never been very good at explaining how I feel, so please be patient. I'm a little scared. No one's ever had the power to break my heart before. You do, already, and that's terrifying. To be honest, I'm not sure I trust you not to." Her voice trailed off and she tipped her head to the side, studying him. Her hands tightened briefly against his. "But I want to take the chance. I want to figure this out with you."

She was no poet, that much was obvious, but he preferred bare-boned honesty over flowery words anyway. The tight bundle of terror that had formed in his chest exploded suddenly into something warm and tender, something that spread throughout his body and made him want to sing for joy. Mordred simply smiled and released her hands, offering her his arm instead. "May I escort you to the castle, my lady?"

"You're not going to quit calling me that, are you?"

"Never."

She chuckled and graciously accepted his arm. "In that case, sir knight, I would love the company."

When they reached the edge of the meadow, however, Senga stopped and looked up at the few stars that hadn't yet faded away in the false dawn light.

"What is it?" Mordred asked.

"We won't have to meet here anymore, will we?" she asked without even looking at him. She looked disappointed.

He considered that briefly. "We won't _have_ to, no." Then he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Unless we need to gather herbs, that is."

* * *

 _ **Please review!**_


	7. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Just to give you a heads up, this one's a whopper: over four thousand words. And I owe you a timeline update. This chapter takes place approximately 1.5 years after the last chapter. This is after they lost and then saved Gwen, after episode 10 of series 5, after Morgana failed to get Merlin's name from Alator. So we are now at episode 11. Cue the dramatic music.  
**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin_.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Six**_

 _Approximately one and a half years later_

 _"What do you think?" Mordred asked, beaming proudly._

 _Senga hesitated, taking in the boards that were beginning to show rot, the roof in desperate need of repairing, the crumbling well, the crumbling chimney. And she sighed. "I think," she said slowly, "that I would rather be here with you than in a castle with any other man."_

 _He sent her a sideways glance. "That is not an answer."_

 _"Yes it is. It may not be an answer to the question you asked, but it is an answer to the question you wanted to ask."_

 _Mordred laughed. "Honestly, now, about the house: What do you think?"_

 _"I think it needs a lot of work." Senga leaned closer to him, slipping an arm around his waist as his arm fell over her shoulders. "But we're safe and we're together and that's all I could ever hope for."_

 _A shadow fell across them, and Senga glanced curiously up at the cloudless sky. "Where did the sun go?"_

 _"Nowhere," Mordred answered._

 _Senga frowned as the darkness continued to deepen. And then she realized. "This is a dream."_

 _"Yes, it is."_

 _Senga recoiled from the person at her side. Where Mordred had stood an instant before, an old woman stood in his place. Neither beautiful nor ugly, the woman watched her with golden eyes that glowed like fire. A tattered black cloak hung from her shoulders and fluttered gently in a wind Senga could not feel._

 _"Do not fear me, child," the woman said in a surprisingly smooth voice. "I came only to show you something."_

 _Senga took a deep breath as a memory hit her, a memory she had entirely forgotten until this moment. "I've seen you before, haven't I? In my dreams when I was a child."_

 _"Yes, you have. Your blood calls to me, though not as strongly as your grandmother's once did. I am your guide in this realm. Come, Senga. There are many important decisions to be made in the coming days, most of which you will have no power over. But there is one thing you must see and we do not have much time."_

 _The woman turned and walked away without another word, and Senga followed her. Darkness closed fully around them. A living thing, this darkness seemed to be; it pressed determinedly against Senga's skin, tried to crawl down her throat when she breathed, suffocated the sounds of her steps and all other sounds until her ears rang with heavy, unnatural silence. Senga thought wildly, inexplicably, that if she let this darkness in she would never be rid of it. So she thought of all things bright. She thought of the sun, of the moon, of the stars, of Mordred's eyes when he smiled. And the dark seemed to retreat a bit._

 _They walked what felt like a long while in this thick blackness until the woman finally stopped and faced Senga once more._

 _"Come," she said. "Look over the edge."_

 _Senga cautiously stepped forward and looked. A battle waged furiously below her, but she could hear nothing of it. Red and gold dragon standards of Camelot clashed with black standards she did not recognize. Casualties aplenty were strewn on both sides of the battle. Her eyes searched the chaos, wondering what she was supposed to be seeing, and then suddenly the battle stilled. Only two figures were left standing._

 _One was Arthur Pendragon._

 _The other, Mordred._

 _They faced each other, neither lowering his blade._

 _Senga gasped, her hands clasping over her mouth. "No," she whispered through her fingers. "Mordred loves Arthur. He would never—"_

 _A blade flashed, piercing armor and body, quickly followed by another strike._

 _Senga cried out as she saw Mordred fall to the ground. Arthur was not far behind him._

 _"Why are you showing me this?" she asked in horror as the tears began to fall._

 _"Because it is one possibility that the future holds," said her guide. "But it is not yet set in stone. Come."_

 _Senga followed without question once again. She reminded herself this was only a dream; Mordred was alive and well and he would never want to kill Arthur._

 _This time as they walked, the darkness began to recede. It retreated a little with every step, until a bright white mist surrounded them—but no, mist was not the correct word. This was something Senga had no word for. This was a solid thing, and yet not solid. It reshaped itself, forming walls and paths and spires that stretched out of sight. It thinned and passed through her, and yet she walked on it without falling. Pieces of it would break away from the rest and chase each other as playful birds do. Soon, the mist began shaping itself into familiar towers and walls. It thinned slightly, revealing colors and more detailed shapes until Senga could discern people strolling about. Everything remained hazy to the eye and yet Senga perceived it all with a clarity she never felt when awake._

 _"This is Camelot," Senga whispered, feeling awed at her surroundings. She had never dreamt of anything like this, not even when she was a child and had visited this…realm, her guide had called it._

 _"This is Camelot as it is meant to be," her guide gently corrected. "Look closely."_

 _Obediently, Senga studied the scene. They stood in the main courtyard of the citadel, she realized; there was some sort of festival, with a great bonfire roaring and musicians playing and people dancing. Arthur and Gwen were among the couples dancing, Gwen doing a marvelous job and Arthur looking a bit lost. Merlin stood off to one side—Senga gasped when she saw him, because his eyes glowed golden just as her guide's did._

 _"Do not get caught on Emrys, child," came the whisper of the old woman. "Find what you must see before you awaken."_

 _Senga tore her gaze away from Merlin with some difficulty. Then another flash of gold caught her attention, and then another, and another until she lost track of them all. Not just eyes, though; the swirling triangle tattoo of the Druids also glowed out here and there._

 _For a long moment, Senga was too stunned to breathe. "This is Camelot with magic."_

 _"No," her guide whispered. "This is a fair and just Camelot. This is the kingdom of the Once and Future King Arthur, a kingdom that treats all people as equals. This is a kingdom that does not persecute people for the gifts they are born with. This is a kingdom that encourages learning. This is a kingdom that welcomes all. What you see is the celebration that may occur if Uther's laws are abolished."_

 _Senga finally found Mordred. He leaned against a wall not far away, his Druid tattoo gleaming through his shirt and eyes glowing bright as the bonfire, and he smiled at her, a rare smile that showed his dimples and made his eyes burn even brighter. "Come and dance with me, my love," he called, stretching out a hand toward her. "Let us show Arthur how it is done."_

 _Senga almost stepped towards him, but stopped herself just in time and looked back at her guide. The old woman's face gentled into an expression Senga could not quite recognize. "It is safe, Senga. Go dance with your Druid."_

 _Unable to stop herself, Senga ran toward Mordred and launched herself into his arms. He caught her, his laughter ringing in her ears, and he swung her around in circles until she grew dizzy. They danced to the Druid music, right there, away from all the other people dancing, until Senga's heart pounded in her chest in time with the drums and she could hear Mordred's heart pounding as well. Then he wrapped her in his arms again and she tucked herself into him, wishing he would never let go. She shut her eyes, breathing in the blending scents of steel and leather and burning sage that always clung to him._

 _"Time has come for you to wake, Senga," said the voice of her guide, drifting through the air and through her mind. "This future could still come to pass, but the chance grows slimmer with each passing second. Everyone must play their part on the path to Albion. Take this feeling with you when you wake, Senga. Remember it, if you remember nothing else, and search for it in the coming days."_

 _Mordred's heart continued to pound against her ear, still in time with the drums, and Senga thought she must have imagined the voice in the air. Because this was where she belonged. Surely nothing would ever ask her to leave._

 _"Senga, wake up. Wake now…"_

Senga stirred on the edge of sleep and wakefulness, of dreams and reality. And then she realized the pounding she heard was no longer drums. It was, in fact, someone at her door. In the dead of night. She stood, bleary-eyed and rumpled from sleep, grumbling under her breath, and reached for a cloak to wrap over her nightdress. "Who is it?" she called, the dream already slipping from her memory. She frowned suddenly and tried to cling to the wisps that remained…but it was already gone.

"It's me," Mordred's voice answered.

She opened the door immediately but her thoughts remained troubled. There was something important about the dream; she could feel in her bones that there was something she should remember.

"Senga?" Mordred asked, voice laden with concern. "What's wrong?"

Her attention snapped back to him and what reason he could possibly have for waking her in the middle of the night. "Nothing. What are you doing here at this hour?"

Mordred opened his mouth and then shut it again, looking as uncertain as she had ever seen him. "I need your help," he finally said. "It's about another Druid."

"Let me get my shoes," she said, stepping back from the door to let him in. He shut the door behind him and watched as she laced her boots.

"Where's your father?" he asked.

"Sleeping in the forge. Being the chief blacksmith of a kingdom at war is busy work, apparently. He's slept more there than here in the past months."

Senga found something to tie her cloak shut over her nightdress, thankful she wasn't rich enough to afford an attractive flimsy thing. Her thick wool nightdress would actually serve to keep some of the cold at bay. "Do I need to get anything to treat wounds, or some food?"

Mordred's expression turned into something equal parts tender and amazed. "Something to clean a wound, yes, and something to keep it from going bad."

She fetched the necessary items and met him at the door. "Shall we?"

Leaning down to kiss her quickly, he gave her a gentle smile. "Thank you."

Mordred led her to the woods, where he finally lit the torch he carried. He stood still, closing his eyes, one hand on the torch and the other clasped with Senga's. _Kara?_ he called with his mind. _Kara?_

 _Mordred,_ came the answering cry. The voice was decidedly female.

Senga lifted her brows in surprise but did not say anything.

Mordred led her in the direction of the call until they reached a cave. "Kara?" he called softly, moving the torch to light the sides of the small cave. "Where are you?"

A young woman emerged from behind some rocks, limping and wincing with every step. She gripped a knife firmly and pointed it at Senga. "Who is this, Mordred?" she asked in a voice as sharp as the blade.

"I'm here to help," Senga said. "I have no intention of telling anyone where you are."

"I trust her, Kara," Mordred added softly. "I trust her with my life."

After a long, tense moment, Kara finally lowered her knife. She sat heavily on the ground, as if her legs could not bear her weight another moment, and Senga set to treating the wound on her leg.

"I did not believe my eyes," Kara murmured, obviously for Mordred's ears alone. "When I saw you earlier. I knew you had survived, I always believed it; but to actually see you again…"

Confusion colored Mordred's voice when he answered. "The others thought I was dead?"

"Camelot's forces slaughtered everyone you were with, Mordred. All the bodies were found, save yours. Some thought you dead; others, myself included, believed you survived. We believed you were working for the good of Druids and everyone else with magic."

There was a silence then, a weighted silence full of implied words that Senga could only guess at. She continued to work, cleaning the wound carefully, treating it with herbs to prevent infection, and replacing the old bandage with a clean one. She deliberately chose to ignore the silence. For one thing, she did not know who this Kara was; for another, she did not know what kind of history she had with Mordred. And perhaps this was something Mordred needed to work out for himself.

"That is my intention, Kara," he finally said.

"But you are a knight of _Camelot_ ," Kara asserted, the last word full of loathing. "Mordred, why?"

"I believe in Arthur. He is a good man; he will change things."

"He is your friend?" Kara asked with disbelief apparent in her tone, her bearing, her face. "He knows you are a Druid, then?"

Mordred hesitated, and Kara scoffed into the silence.

"Arthur is different from his father," Mordred said softly. "There is understanding in him, there is compassion, there is a desire for peace and unity."

"He is a Pendragon," Kara insisted scornfully. "He would hunt every last sorcerer to the ends of the earth."

Another silence descended as Senga finished securing the bandage. She glanced at Mordred then, taking in the way he looked at Kara as if his heart was breaking. A pang of jealousy stabbed at Senga but she ignored it and simply sat back to watch.

"What happened to you?" Mordred wondered quietly, the pain in his voice cutting into Senga's heart like needles until her chest felt like a well-used pincushion. "Where did this hate come from?"

"Blame your dear king of Camelot. He is the one who continues to hunt our people and kill everyone who even speaks of magic."

Mordred stared at the Druid girl for a long moment, his eyes filling with compassion and regret. Then he visibly withdrew from her. "We will come back to treat you again, Kara. We will help your leg to heal. I will protect you from patrols as best I can. You're wrong about Arthur. He _is_ a good man."

Kara looked at him in utter astonishment. Her gaze flicked to Senga and then back to Mordred. Her lip curled slightly. "You are deluding yourself, Mordred. A Pendragon will never accept a Druid as a friend. He'd hang you the moment he found out the truth. There will never be a place for you in Camelot as long as a Pendragon holds the throne."

That was all Senga's temper could take. She opened her mouth to defend Mordred, but she did not get the opportunity. Mordred took her hand and they left without another word. He walked quickly, almost too quickly; Senga found herself having to focus on where to put her feet to avoid stumbling. She worried about him. She'd never seen him look at anyone the way he'd looked at Kara, and he'd never been this quiet around her, either. She was too caught up in her thoughts to realize where he was leading her, until he stopped abruptly and she almost plowed into him.

Mordred finally released her hand. "I apologize, Senga. I should not have pulled you along like that. This is the only place I feel safe enough to speak openly."

She glanced around and saw that they were on the edge of their meadow. A soft smile touched her lips; this meadow held many good memories. Then she put a hand on Mordred's shoulder, and when he did not turn to face her, she moved to stand in front of him. "Mordred, please talk to me. I've never seen you like this before."

"It's Kara," he admitted.

Senga waited. She knew he would speak when he was ready.

"We were friends, once, when we were young. She was always so sweet to everyone, quick to forgive, quick to laugh. When I saw her yesterday, I couldn't believe my eyes. I knew if the others saw her they would arrest her. I had to save her."

Senga frowned. "I'm confused. What happened, exactly?"

"We were out on patrol with Arthur yesterday morning and came across a caravan that had been attacked by Saxons. The caravan was bringing a shipment of weapons and armor to Camelot. The Saxons killed everyone and took the cargo. I saw Kara trying to get away. I thought she was a Saxon until I got closer. I told her to run, and told the others I saw a deer."

"Are you saying Kara was with the Saxons? That she attacked Camelot soldiers?"

"Yes, I am," Mordred ran a hand through his hair, agitated. "It's not like her at all. Why would she do such a thing? She's a Druid, same as I. We are meant to be a peaceful people."

"And yet you are a knight," Senga pointed out. Mordred shook his head, starting to argue, but she refused to let him. "You are a knight, Mordred, skilled in the art of killing, and you still claim to be a Druid. If she has gone against Druid beliefs by choosing to fight for her freedom, then so have you."

Mordred looked as if she'd slapped him.

"The difference," Senga continued, "is that you have chosen to follow a man who believes in love and yearns for peace. If Kara was with the Saxons, that means she follows Morgana now. She has chosen to follow a woman who has lost herself to hate."

"But what if she is right?" he asked, the words barely even a whisper, and Senga's heart broke at the confliction in his voice. "What if I am wrong about Arthur? Three years, Senga. I've been in Camelot three years and haven't one success for magic to show for all of that time."

"Now that's not true and you know it," she gently retorted. "Arthur spared my father, after all, and I've heard him talking with Gwen about whether Uther was wrong about magic. She's always quick to point out that if he hadn't been willing to use magic, she would still be lost to Morgana."

Mordred shook his head. "Discussions only, and from what you've told me, he still believes magic should be outlawed."

"But the topic weighs on his mind. And he is starting to listen to her. He doesn't outright reject arguments supporting magic anymore. A few small pebbles can start a landslide," Senga said, realizing as the words came out of her mouth that it was something her mother used to say. _And landslides can change the world, so be careful what you say and do, little flutterby,_ was how it ended. Senga shooed the memory away even as she marveled at the clarity of it.

Mordred sighed, subsiding into silence, and looked away from her again. Senga took his face in her hands, brushing her fingers across his ears and into his feather-soft hair. His eyes slipped shut as he leaned into her touch and his hands settled on her waist.

"You believe Arthur will change things," she said. "Hold on to that faith. Hold on to your loyalty. It's part of who you are, Mordred. Don't lose sight of that now."

He opened his eyes again, those blue eyes that never failed to take her breath away, and he smiled a little—it was one of his rare smiles that lived more in his eyes than his mouth and made Senga feel like she was about to melt into a puddle. "I love you, Senga," he murmured.

Her heart skipped a beat. Mordred wasn't shy about saying it, he never had been, but she never tired of hearing it. "I love you, too," she whispered, and stretched up on her toes to kiss him.

Mordred broke away first, before the kiss got out of hand, and took a deep breath. "You don't think I should protect her, do you."

It was a statement, not a question. Senga smiled a little. "You know me so well." But then she had to stop and think for a moment, because she realized the answer was much more complicated than she first thought. "But you wouldn't be the man I loved if you didn't."

Her answer seemed to catch him off guard. "Explain, if you will."

"If the decision were mine to make, I would not protect her. Even if she was someone I used to know. Even if she was a dear friend. She broke the law. She raided a caravan full of weapons meant for Camelot's soldiers and good men died because of her actions. She should face the consequences of her choice. I would turn her over to Arthur without a second thought. But you are different. Your loyalty lives in your very bones, Mordred. If you did not do everything in your power to protect a friend, even one you haven't seen in over a decade, you would not be you. So as much as I might disagree with your decision, I love you all the more for it."

Mordred smiled and slipped an arm around her waist, steering them toward the citadel. "Come on, my lady love. If we hurry, you'll have a chance to get dressed before you go to work."

Senga blushed, having forgotten that all she wore was a nightdress, a cloak, and a pair of boots.

They walked in silence to the far side of the meadow, simply basking in each other's company. Mordred stopped at the edge of the trees and looked at her, a worried frown creasing his brow. "I will have to tell Arthur someday. That I am a Druid. I'm not sure how he'll react, Senga, and I don't want you getting caught up in it if he reacts badly."

"Don't worry, Mordred," she said. "Arthur would never hang you for being a Druid. He might exile you, though…"

Mordred made a surprised noise that fell somewhere between a cough and a laugh. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Look on the bright side," Senga suggested, an impish grin spreading across her face. "At least we'll be able to get that Druid marriage rite performed that you keep insisting on."

He stared at her, lips twitching as he tried not to laugh. Then, moving too quickly for her to even react, he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

"Mordred!" she protested in indignation as he resumed walking toward Camelot. "Put me down!"

"Not until you apologize," he said calmly, but she could hear the smile in his voice.

"Apologize for what? Trying to make you laugh?"

"For not assuaging my worries like a good lady love should," he explained.

Senga snorted. "By my thinking, making you laugh will _assuage_ your worries better than anything else. So I will not apologize."

"Then I won't put you down."

Senga shrugged as best she could in her current position. "I look forward to hearing your explanation to the other knights as to why you're carting me around all day. While I'm still in my nightdress, at that."

Mordred's steps slowed.

"And you'll have to explain to the queen, as well."

Finally he stopped and heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Very well, you win this time," he said as he set her back on her feet.

Senga grinned up at him. He stared at her for a long moment with a perfectly straight face, and then he laughed.

"There, now you feel better, don't you?" she asked. "I was right."

"You were indeed," Mordred confirmed, still smiling. Then his eyes softened. "Would you really go with me, if I was exiled?"

"Of course I would," she said, touching her fingertips to his face. "There's never been any doubt in my mind. I would follow you to the ends of the earth, if that's where you wanted to go."

Mordred kissed her then. He kissed her until her skin prickled with heat everywhere he touched her and she wanted nothing more than to memorize every plane of his body. But then he withdrew. Senga buried her face in his chest and fought to catch her breath; she could feel him doing the same.

"Are you sure we have to have a Druid marriage rite?" she mumbled into his shirt. "Because if you keep insisting on that, I may have to insist on self-imposed exile so we can get it without breaking any laws."

"I love you, Senga," he said with a chuckle that rumbled through his chest.

"And yet you refuse to marry me," she pointed out with a slow shake of her head. "I'm starting to wonder about your intentions, sir knight."

His laughter rang out once again, filling the still air and Senga's heart alike as they made their way back to Camelot.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading! Please review!**_


	8. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: All right, timeline remains straightforward from here until the end. Hopefully I haven't confused anyone. (And yes, as previously stated, this one ends in a bit of a cliffhanger. Sorry.)  
**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Seven**_

"Where were you?"

Mordred stopped in his tracks and took a deep breath before facing Merlin. "Out."

"I can see that much," the warlock said, leaning against a support pillar and looking like a cat that finally caught a cautious mouse.

Mordred took a single step toward Merlin. "Why do you hate me?" he asked as calmly as he could. "What have I done to cause you to think so little of me?"

"I saw you yesterday. You let a Saxon go."

Struggling now to keep his voice level, Mordred took another step toward Merlin. "She is not a Saxon, Merlin. She is a Druid. She was a dear friend, many years ago, and I owe her a chance to escape."

Merlin arched an accusatory brow. "Does Senga know you're helping this girl?"

"Senga treated her wounds." Mordred regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. If this went badly, he didn't want her to lose her livelihood because of him. "Please, Merlin, don't tell anyone about this."

"This Druid girl was involved in the attack on the weapons shipment, wasn't she?"

"I did not ask and she did not say," Mordred said truthfully. "She could have been injured by the Saxons."

The warlock gave him a look of utter disbelief.

"Please, Merlin," Mordred shamelessly beseeched. "Do not tell Arthur."

Merlin finally—grudgingly—nodded his agreement. "I won't tell anyone."

"Thank you." Mordred turned on his heel and walked away, hoping his profound relief was not as obvious as it felt.

He realized then that Merlin had never answered his question.

* * *

Senga hurried through the castle with a basket of freshly laundered clothes, running through her list of tasks yet to do in her head. "My lady," she nodded to Gwen as she entered the royal chambers.

"Senga," Gwen greeted her with a warm smile, as always. "How are you today? You look a bit rushed."

"I got a late start, my lady," Senga answered, already arranging clothes into the queen's wardrobe.

"So did Sir Mordred, I believe."

Startled, Senga glanced over at the queen, who merely smiled angelically back at her. Senga turned back to the wardrobe and continued her work, though her movements slowed somewhat as she tried to decide how to react.

"I caught a glimpse of the knights training this morning," Gwen continued. "Mordred seemed to be yawning rather excessively. I do hope he's not growing bored with Arthur's regimen."

Slightly horrified at the implication, Senga whirled around to face Gwen. "My lady, I can assure you—"

Gwen laughed lightly. "I'm only teasing you, Senga. I know you're both busy and that it must be hard finding time to be together amidst everything. If you two sneak away for a few hours in the dead of night, I'll be the last person to judge."

Senga felt herself flush. And then she wondered why she could tease Mordred about this very topic without coloring even the slightest bit. "My lady, we only ever talk when we sneak out. Mordred is…the definition of honorable."

"I'm sure he is," Gwen said, her smile softening now. "You two make each other very happy, don't you? I can see it, whenever you're in a room together. If you don't mind my asking, what does your father think?"

Senga snorted as she once again returned to her work. "He predicted it, actually, and now he's all sorts of smug about being right."

"So when do you think Mordred will ask you to marry him?"

"He wants to wait until—" Senga stopped herself just in time. Swallowing nervously, she hurried on and hoped the queen hadn't noticed. "Until he can remember a marriage ceremony he saw when he was young. It left an impression, apparently. But we will get married, eventually; we've decided that much."

"Senga, that's marvelous! Why didn't you tell me?" the queen exclaimed delightedly.

Shrugging, Senga went to replace the burned down candles by the window with fresh. "I figured it would be better to wait until we knew for sure when…" Senga's voice trailed off as a flurry of movement in the courtyard caught her eye. Arthur and Merlin were returning from a patrol. They weren't alone, though; there was a third person, someone shorter than both the men…someone in a green cloak.

Senga felt as though all the blood in her body had turned to ice.

"I just remembered something I forgot to do, my lady," she said as calmly as she could manage. "I'll be back to replace the candles."

Gwen looked up with a slight frown as Senga rushed out the door. Senga cringed to herself, making a silent vow to apologize later. She hurried to the armory as fast as she could walk, but by the time she got there, the knights were already filing out.

"Where's Mordred?" she asked, not seeing him among the rest.

"He's in his room, I think," Sir Leon answered. "Would you go and tell him Arthur's summoned us to a trial?"

Senga blanched and took off in that direction. This time she ran, not caring what anyone thought and arriving slightly out of breath.

Mordred reached for a weapon when she flung his door open, but then smiled widely—and a bit wickedly—when he saw her. "You are stunning when you're all flushed and out of breath," he said in a low voice that brushed along her skin, as intimate as any caress.

Taking a deep breath, Senga ignored the strange things he was doing to the rhythm of her heart. "Mordred," was all she got out before the words got stuck. She didn't want to tell him. This would nearly kill him, seeing a friend being put on trial. But better he heard it from her than anyone else.

"Senga, what's wrong?" Mordred asked, stepping toward her, his smile melting into concern.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, blinked until her vision cleared, and braced for the worst. "Arthur found Kara."

* * *

Mordred allowed his temper to flare when he saw Merlin. He reached out and grabbed hold of Merlin's shirt, shoved him back against a pillar none too gently—though nowhere near as hard as he wanted—and held him there. "You've gone too far this time, Merlin," he snarled. "Distrusting me is one thing. Handing my friends over to the executioner is another."

"I didn't tell Arthur," Merlin insisted, and then again when Mordred twisted his hands tighter into the warlock's shirt. "He found your tracks, Mordred. There was nothing I could do to stop him from finding her."

"Is there a problem here?" Leon's voice cut in.

Mordred stepped back from Merlin, not even bothering to glance at the tall and, at times, infuriatingly rational knight. "Not at all," he said evenly, and then turned and walked away. He could hear Leon questioning Merlin, Merlin saying it was nothing, and then blessed silence was all he heard as he made his way to the dungeon. Kara's cell was easy enough to find; it was the only one occupied. She stood when she saw him, favoring her injured leg as she moved closer to the bars.

"The king sent me to speak with you," Mordred said, mindful of the nearby guards. "He is…frustrated over your refusal to say who aided you."

Kara wrapped her hands around the bars as if she could bend them apart and step outside. Her face was hard as stone, but tears welled in her eyes. "I would die sooner than divulge their name. I loved this person once, and love them still, though they seem to have lost their way."

Mordred found himself rather taken aback by her declaration—and it must have shown on his face, because she sighed a little.

"I had always thought my affections were obvious," she continued quietly. "I even dared to hope they were reciprocated. Apparently they were not."

"This person did risk a great deal to aid you," Mordred said carefully. "I would say they love you no less than one would love a sister. And if you will not give me a name," he glanced at the guards again and lowered his voice still further, "at least tell me this: How could they have lost their way if they chose to help you?"

Kara shrugged a little, staring up at him with eyes that gleamed in the torchlight. "I suppose they're just confused about the best way to help their people. They've thrown their lot in with the worst tyrant their people have ever faced, after all. But I have faith they'll remember the light soon."

Mordred could feel his heart break at her words, a physical sensation of something inside his chest ripping in half. Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes and spilled down his face only an instant later. "They've always had the best interests of their people at heart," he said, and he hoped it sounded convincing to her ears, because he was not sure he believed it anymore. "I will talk to the king. I will do everything in my power to get you out of here. I promise."

Kara shook her head slowly and backed away from the bars. "Arthur will never pardon a Druid."

* * *

Merlin watched from across the room as Mordred got down on a knee before Arthur. He reached for his magic, allowing it to simmer just below the surface of his mind where he could call on it at a moment's notice.

"I'm the one who helped her, sire," Mordred said. "The Druid girl. I treated her wounds and I promised I would keep her safe from patrols."

Arthur paused what he was doing, seemingly too surprised to react for a moment, and then finally focused all his attention on the young knight. "Why would you do this?"

"We knew each other when we were children. Kara was a very dear friend. She is a good person, sire. Please…please, I beg you to show her mercy."

Merlin watched as Arthur studied the knight and then sighed, putting down his quill.

"Childhood sweethearts?" Arthur guessed.

Mordred shook his head. "No, my lord. Kara was always like a sister to me. She was the closest thing to family I ever had, until I came to Camelot."

Arthur stood and walked around his desk to grip Mordred's arm, pulling the younger man to his feet. "Mordred, I am sure that Kara was a sweet girl once, but her actions are undeniable. She caused the deaths of many good men. Morgana has obviously poisoned her mind. There is nothing I can do."

"Arthur—" Mordred began, but caught himself. Merlin saw that his face was wet with tears. "Sire, what kind of man am I if I do not do all that is in my power to aid my friends? What kind of man, what kind of knight am I, if I allow someone I love to be executed?"

"She broke the law, Mordred, and you heard her say she does not regret her actions," Arthur said gently. "I understand how deep your loyalty toward friends is, in fact it's a trait I admire greatly in you; but there is a line where loyalty ends, a line that friends sometimes cross and you realize they no longer deserve your loyalty. That line is different for every man. Learning where it is and what to do when it is crossed can be difficult, but it is a lesson that must be learnt eventually. Allowing her to remain in prison would be a mark for your honor in my eyes, Mordred, not one against."

Mordred stared determinedly at the floor all through Arthur's little speech, and Merlin could see the turmoil in his gaze. Finally the young knight nodded his acknowledgement of Arthur's words.

Arthur clapped a hand on Mordred's shoulder. "Think on that."

Mordred bowed to the king and turned to go.

Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, Merlin finally let his magic recede back to where it normally resided.

"Oh, and Mordred?" Arthur called as the young man reached the door.

"Yes, sire?"

"I believe Gwen sent Senga home early this evening, if you wish to talk to someone who is not your king."

Mordred smiled a little, but only with his mouth. "Thank you for telling me, my lord."

Once the young knight was gone, Merlin brought Arthur a fresh inkwell. "That could be trouble."

"What, Senga? No, she's a good match for him. I've never seen him happier than when he is with her."

"Not Senga, Arthur," Merlin clarified, perhaps a bit more forcefully than he needed to. "Kara. I think she'll prove to be more trouble before we're rid of her."

Arthur shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Mordred will realize this is for the best."

Merlin deliberately bit his tongue. And then counted to ten before he opened his mouth again. "Will that be all for tonight, sire?"

"Yes, that's all, Merlin."

Merlin's feet carried him back to the chambers he called home, and all the while his thoughts remained on a young Druid knight destined to change everything.

* * *

When Senga answered the knock at the door, she was not at all surprised to see Mordred standing there in the sprinkling rain, hood of his cloak up to keep away the chill. He wore only a plain shirt and trousers under his cloak instead of his standard chainmail. She took a moment to appreciate the view; he had the long lean body of a dancer rather than the bulky muscles of a soldier and the chainmail he worn so often hid it well. Then her gaze moved back up to his face, and her heart stuttered to a stop.

"Father?" she called over her shoulder as she reached for her thick wool cloak. "I'm going for a walk with Mordred."

"All right," came the reply. "Tell him to have you home sometime before dawn."

Mordred took Senga's hand as they walked, clasping it tighter than he normally did. They walked to their meadow in silence, neither one having to say where they were going; when they arrived, Mordred settled himself on the ground where he could rest his back against a tree and where the full moon illuminated his face. Senga smiled a little to herself as she sat in front of him. He knew how much she enjoyed watching him; that was why he'd picked a spot without shadows and why he'd pushed his hood back, despite the rain that still sprinkled lightly on them.

They sat in silence for a while. Senga listened to the crickets and the owls and all the other animals of the night, and waited patiently until Mordred found the right words. When he finally did speak, it was in a whisper that belonged to a full moon night just as much as the crickets did.

"What if she's right?"

Senga winced at the pain in his voice. She wanted to comfort him, to hold him until the pain left and never returned—but she had learned in the past year when he needed comfort to soothe the hurt away and when he needed to let the pain linger until he knew how best to treat it. This moment was one of the latter.

"She was my closest friend, the nearest thing I've ever had to a sibling. I trusted her judgement in all things from catching frogs to climbing trees to which mushrooms were safe to eat. So what if she is right about this as well? What if I have put my faith in a tyrant?"

"Do you want to talk this out for yourself, or do you want hear what I think?" she asked quietly.

Mordred smiled ever so slightly. "I love you for asking. Let me talk it out a while, please."

Senga blushed just a bit. She was sure he had never said 'I love you' quite so…deliberately before.

"What if I have betrayed the Druids?" he continued, and she knew how much it took for him to say such a thing aloud. "Uther Pendragon was the worst enemy my people have ever known, he hunted and slaughtered us like animals, and here I am serving his son. What if I placed my faith in the wrong man? There are prophecies about Arthur, about how he unites the kingdoms in peace, but no one can foretell the future with perfect clarity. Most of those prophecies were made before the Great Purge and could be absolutely worthless now. Arthur could be just as prejudiced as his father. Kara could be right.

"But Kara…she's changed so much since I saw her last. She was a gentle soul when we were young. Morgana got ahold of her somehow, twisted her into someone she's not. But once twisted, can someone be untwisted? Do I owe it to her to try? What is better for her: to try to undo the damage Morgana has wrought in her mind, or to leave her to face the consequences of her actions?"

Mordred subsided very suddenly, as if his words had run completely dry, and collapsed against the tree at his back. Tears coursed down his face and sobs shook his frame. Senga could not stand it any longer. She crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around him and holding him as best she could, and nestled her body against his. His arms encircled her, gradually tightening and clutching her closer still. She cried with him, hating to see him torn apart like this. He wept until his tears were spent and his sobs lessened to hiccups.

"Who do I owe my loyalty to, Senga?" he asked, voice husky from his tears. "The man I swore to follow or the sister who never gave up believing in me?"

Senga took a deep yet shaky breath. "I can't answer that for you, Mordred. It is your decision and yours alone."

His heartbeat thudded against her ear. A vague memory flashed before her mind's eye: Dancing with him to Druid music in Camelot, feeling the drums in her soul, holding each other as tightly as they were now…A memory of a dream, she realized. A dream of a future that would likely never come to pass.

"I will love you no matter what you choose, Mordred," she whispered. "Always."

His arms briefly tightened around her in response.

Neither knew how long they stayed there. The moon rose high in the sky before either moved. They stood together, arms still around each other, sides pressed close enough to make walking awkward—but neither wanted to let go, and so neither did. Eventually they made it back to her father's house. Still loathe to part, they both stared at the door for a long while.

Mordred withdrew first. He slowly relaxed his hold on her; she reluctantly followed suit. Before he left, he pressed a salty kiss to her lips and whispered, "Thank you for everything." And then he walked away.

Senga watched until the night swallowed him whole. Only then did she go inside, take off her cloak and boots, look at her bed, and then slip under her father's blanket.

"Senga?" Aonghas mumbled groggily. "What's wrong, dearest?"

She realized she was crying again. But she could not find words to explain. So she simply snuggled into her father the way she had when she was a little girl and let herself cry.

"Mordred's in trouble, isn't he?" Aonghas asked quietly.

Senga nodded.

"Is he coming back?"

A sob wracked her frame. "I don't know."

* * *

Arthur knocked on Gaius's door, feeling slightly awkward as he did so. He'd never thought he'd be here this late at night, at least not unless the citadel was under attack, and he almost felt guilty about waking both of them up for a mere suspicion. Almost.

Gaius opened the door, bleary-eyed and groggy. "Sire, what are you doing here? Has someone been hurt?"

In the space of those two short questions, most of the sleepiness had fled the old man's countenance. Arthur was rather impressed. "No one is hurt, Gaius. I need to talk to you and Merlin."

"About what, sire?" Gaius asked, stepping aside to let him in.

"Mordred. I think I remember who he is."

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading! Please review!**_


	9. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: All right, drum roll please...Kilgharrah makes his debut this chapter! And I have to say that writing him is actually a lot of fun. Here's hoping I even came close to keeping him in character. Enjoy!  
**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Eight**_

When Mordred left Senga at her father's house, he was still agonizing over the decision he had to make before dawn. He wandered the lower town, taking the most circuitous route to the citadel that he possibly could. A pair of guards passed him, talking quietly; they nodded to him as he passed. But then one of them said something that caught his ear. Mordred stood frozen for a moment, half convinced he had heard incorrectly, and realized he _needed_ to know for certain. So he chased after them.

"Pardon me," Mordred called, and the guards finally turned to greet him. He exchanged pleasantries impatiently before he got a chance to ask. "What were you talking about just a moment ago?"

They shared an uncertain glance.

"Neither of you will get in any trouble for anything you say to me," Mordred assured them. "I hadn't heard the rumor, is all."

The taller of the two raised an eyebrow. "It's not a rumor, Sir Mordred. I overheard the king himself say it. That Druid girl he brought in tried to kill him. She didn't even know who he was until after he disarmed her."

Mordred barely remembered to thank the man before he took off running for the dungeon. He didn't stop running until he reached Kara's cell.

"Is it true?" he demanded, out of breath and suddenly—rather absurdly—thankful he wasn't wearing chainmail.

"Is what true?" Kara asked, a frown furrowing her brow.

"Did you try to kill Arthur? Before you even knew who he was? When for all you knew, he was just a soldier of Camelot, perhaps with a wife and children at home? Did you try to kill a man for just doing his job? _Did you try to kill a man for no good reason?_ "

She hesitated.

Mordred could feel all the emotions he thought he had cried out welling up within him again. This time, for once, he did not even try to hold them back. "What in the goddess's name happened to you, Kara? You were kind once. You were gentle, and sweet. You hesitated to kill a _spider_. And now you go around leading Saxon raids and trying to kill the soldiers who track you down?" He heard footsteps behind him and then low voices; distantly, he realized he was shouting at her.

"Why are you angry with me?" Kara demanded. "It's only because of Camelot's laws that I did any of it."

"No," Mordred shook his head. "No, you will _not_ blame Camelot. You chose your path, Kara. You _chose_ and you are responsible for your own actions. Morgana may have twisted you into becoming a killer, she may have poisoned your mind against Arthur, but you chose to go to her, didn't you? You _wanted_ to be a tool she could use against Camelot." His hands curled into fists. He could feel his magic rising, stirring his blood, crackling in the air; everything in the room not built into a wall began to tremble and shake. The bars of her cell, however, remained perfectly still. "I am not the one who betrayed the Druids, Kara. _You did."_

She jerked back as if he had struck her.

Mordred stared her down until she turned away from him.

"Mordred."

His eyes slipped shut. There was no mistaking that voice. The unbridled rush of emotion left just as quickly as it had arrived, leaving him feeling empty and drained and on the edge of exhaustion. His magic retreated as well, allowing the room to fall still once more, and his hands fell limp at his sides. He heaved a deep breath and prayed that Senga would forgive him for being a reckless fool. Then he turned to face his king. Mordred fell to his knees, ready to receive any reprimand, and slowly raised his head to look Arthur in the eye.

But the words that left Arthur's mouth were not the ones he expected.

"I finally remembered you," the king said. "When we met three years ago, you said I'd saved your life once. I'll admit I did not have the slightest idea what you were talking about then. But I do now."

Mordred swallowed, hard. He could read nothing of what Arthur was thinking.

"You were the Druid boy I helped Merlin and Morgana get out of Camelot, aren't you?"

Mordred nodded. "Yes, sire. That was me."

"Merlin confirmed it for me first, just a little while ago," Arthur said, gesturing to Merlin, who stood slightly behind him. "Although it is nice to finally hear the truth from you."

"I only hid it from you because I had to, my lord," Mordred said quietly, knowing even as he spoke that the king would not appreciate debating the finer points. "If you had asked me directly, I would never have lied."

Arthur studied him a moment. Mordred, feeling oddly brave, refused to lower his gaze. "Merlin," the king finally said, "go and tell the guards all is well."

"Arthur," Merlin started to protest.

"Go," Arthur ordered, turning just enough to glare at his servant.

Merlin left reluctantly, tossing one final suspicious glance at Mordred before disappearing up the stairs.

"Tell me, Mordred," Arthur said slowly, "what makes a Druid want to be a knight of Camelot?"

"There are prophecies about you, Arthur," Mordred answered. Since he now had nothing more to lose, he may as well be completely honest. "Prophecies about the Once and Future King who brings peace to the five kingdoms. Peace requires acceptance. Acceptance of _everyone_ , including those with magic. And there is nothing true Druids love more than peace and acceptance."

Arthur's mouth twitched upward at that, as if he wanted to smile at Mordred's slightly dry tone but would not allow himself to. "Is that it? You heard stories about a mythical ruler when you were a child and decided it was me?"

"The prophecies included your name, Arthur Pendragon. I wasn't guessing it was you; I _knew._ Some events are set in stone from before the dawn of time. Your rule was one such event. You are destined to be the greatest king this land has ever seen, and I wanted to support your efforts in any way I could. The Druids have been waiting for your arrival for a very long time."

Arthur appeared slightly unnerved. "You have magic," he stated.

"You saw it with your own eyes. I was born with it. My magic is not as powerful as some." Mordred spoke carefully, not wanting to let slip the name Emrys by accident in case Arthur had heard it before. The identity of Emrys was not his secret to tell. "Morgana is more powerful than I, for instance. But those of us born with the gift are rare. Most have to study and learn to use it."

"Is it always so…chaotic?"

"No, only when I allow my emotions to get the better of me."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Have you ever used it in Camelot before today?"

"Never in Camelot. I used it once against Morgana."

"The Cauldron of Arianrhod," Arthur guessed and Mordred confirmed with a nod. "I knew you couldn't escape Morgana with only your sword." Arthur stared at him for a moment, face as hard and unforgiving as the wall behind him. "I'm beginning to wonder if I know you at all, Mordred."

"My magic and Druid blood are the only things I kept hidden, Arthur," Mordred said quietly. "I've been honest in everything else."

Arthur sighed and turned to pace around the small room. "I came here expecting to find you breaking Kara out. Why didn't you?"

Mordred resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder. "Because she has chosen her path, and though it breaks my heart, I must let her walk it and face the consequences of her choices."

"You are not renouncing your loyalty to the Druids, are you?"

"I cannot renounce loyalty that lives in my blood."

"Yet neither are you renouncing your loyalty to Camelot."

Mordred's stomach shriveled into a tight knot. "No, sire, I am not. I believe in you, Arthur. I believe in the future you are destined to create. I have abided by all the kingdom's laws since I arrived in Camelot, save the one that bans my people. Yes, I am Druid, but I am also a loyal knight of Camelot. I _can_ be both."

Arthur finally stopped pacing and stared at him again. "You're putting me in a very difficult situation."

"I know, and I am sorry. I had hoped not to tell you until the laws against Druids were changed."

Arthur sent him an arch look. "You knew this too, of course. One of your prophecies declared it."

"As I said, peace requires acceptance. And acceptance requires an open mind and fair laws."

Shaking his head, Arthur paced around in yet another circle. When he stopped, he was still shaking his head. "I can't decide what to do with you right now. I need to think, Mordred, long and hard about what the best course of action is."

Mordred nodded, slightly disappointed. "Which cell is to be mine?"

The king hesitated. "None," he finally said. "You are confined to the castle until I make up my mind. One of the other knights will be with you at all times. You are not to carry any weapons. Any attempt to flee, any use of magic, any attack on _anyone_ , and your life is forfeit. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sire." Mordred winced slightly as he stood; his knees ached from being pressed against the cold stone floor. He watched Arthur disappear up the stairs before turning back to Kara. "You see, Kara? I chose the right side after all."

She sniffed, glancing at him with contempt in her gaze. "You're deluding yourself, Mordred. He won't change the laws for you. You're as good as exiled."

"I am sorry for whatever happened to push you to Morgana," he softly said.

"It was you," she spat back at him. "Remember the day you disappeared? When Camelot soldiers came and attacked the entire camp of Druids you were with? That day drove me forward. Oh, I always hoped you survived, but as far as anyone could tell, you were slain by men of Camelot. I swore I would never forgive them for that."

Mordred had thought it wasn't possible for his heart to break any more than it already had. He was wrong. "Kara, do you remember nothing we were taught as children? The human soul cannot survive when burdened with such hatred. You forgot the prophecies about Arthur, about Albion, you didn't even recognize Emrys despite being in his presence three times. I am sorry it has to end this way, and I do not think I will be able to watch you die, but I am not sorry for choosing to remain with Arthur."

Kara turned away from him with a snarl. "I wish I'd never met you, Mordred."

Mordred turned and walked away. It was harder than he'd expected.

But apparently she wasn't quite finished with him.

"It was that girl, wasn't it?" Kara's voice crept out of her cell again, hard with jealousy. "She's the reason you choose tyrants over your own people."

Anger flared hot within Mordred, making his blood boil in an instant. He took a deep breath and made sure he had control of his magic. He didn't even turn to look at Kara. "Her name is Senga. She is everything you turned your back on, everything you should have been. She is the granddaughter of a high priestess. She is the woman I love. And one day, she will be the woman I marry."

He left the dungeon without another word.

* * *

As soon as Arthur dismissed him, Merlin headed for the outskirts of Camelot. He called Kilgharrah as he ran through the trees, hoping the dragon would make good time, because he desperately needed someone to talk to. Someone who could actually help him make sense of everything that was happening. Merlin was so caught up in his own head that he did not realize when the earth first began to shake. In fact, he didn't notice until it pitched and rolled like a wave on the ocean underneath his feet, throwing him headlong into a tree. The impact was not hard enough to knock him unconscious, thankfully, but he knew he'd have one hell of a headache for a day or two. Merlin staggered to his feet and hurried on to meet the dragon.

"Did you feel that, young warlock?" Kilgharrah demanded as soon as he landed.

"I felt the earth toss me into a tree, if that's what you mean," Merlin answered, gingerly checking for blood.

"Something has changed," the dragon pronounced.

Merlin almost snarled his reply but caught himself just in time. "Well that's very helpful, thank you."

"Merlin," Kilgharrah said slowly, "I do not think you understand my meaning."

"Please explain it to me then, because right now I have Arthur insisting on a private meeting with the man destined to kill him, a Druid girl about to be executed for an attack against Camelot soldiers, and a _splitting_ headache. It's a bit much to deal with all at once. And did I mention that Arthur now knows Mordred is a Druid? And that Mordred is very much in love with a girl who just happens to be Gwen's maid? So I've had to keep an eye on both of them!"

"If you're quite finished, young warlock," the dragon growled.

Merlin, slightly abashed, only nodded.

"As you know, there are some events that have been set in stone since before the dawn of time. Only very rarely does one of these events not come to pass. _That_ is precisely what happened tonight. Something, in fact, did _not_ happen. The entire course of the future has changed, and the earth itself has recognized this fact."

Merlin grappled with what the dragon said, trying to understand it and failing. He blamed it on the pounding in his skull. "What does that mean?"

Kilgharrah lowered his snout until it was almost level with Merlin's head. "That means, young warlock, that everything I have told you about the future of Albion may not be accurate."

Merlin's shoulders slumped. "So all the prophecies, all the warnings, they might not be true anymore? I can't trust any of it?"

"Precisely."

"Because one thing did not happen?"

"Because one very important thing did not happen."

Merlin paced around in a circle, reaching to run a hand through his hair but stopping the motion before he found the lump from hitting the tree. "There's absolutely no way of knowing now. Mordred might kill Arthur, but he might not. Arthur might die at Camlann, but he might not. This is horrible."

"On the contrary," Kilgharrah said with what passed for a dragon smile, "this is fascinating. There's no telling where the future will go. I may see Albion in my lifetime. Good luck, young warlock."

And with that, the dragon took to the skies, leaving Merlin staring up at him. "You're not helpful at all!" he yelled at the dragon's retreating outline. Then he began the slow trek back to Camelot.

* * *

Back in the dungeon, Kara murmured a few words into the still night air. The quake had not touched Camelot proper and so she remained unaware of any changes wrought this night. Soon enough, a raven landed on the ground outside the barred window with its holes just large enough for her to slip her fingers through and attach a short note to the bird's leg. She sent it off with another short command, and prayed for favorable winds.

Not long after dawn, after Kara met her end in Camelot, the raven found its mistress waiting in her stronghold. The woman held a cold beauty; it was a beauty of things that used to be: eyes that used to smile, a mouth that used to laugh, a lithe body that used to delight in dancing and sparring and anything else that pushed its limits. She unwrapped the note, careful not to tear it, and a slow smile spread across her face as she read the few short words. She stroked the raven along its breast.

"It seems she was useful after all," Morgana purred, and the raven cawed in response. She read the note again, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of victory.

 _I am to hang at dawn, but I can serve you one last time. Emrys is in Camelot. His name is Merlin._

* * *

 ** _Next chapter: knights of the Round Table react to finding out about Mordred. Lots of brotherly angst and love and all that good stuff. It was a fun chapter to write, in case you can't tell :)_**

 ** _Don't hesitate to let me know what you think!  
_**


	10. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Lots of knights this chapter and...that's really about it. Enjoy!  
**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Nine**_

"This is odd," Mordred stated.

"Everyone in Camelot knowing your biggest secrets?" Gwaine guessed, not even glancing up from the sword he was sharpening.

"No, actually. Being the armory and not _doing_ anything."

"Well," Leon said a bit more sharply than he intended, "the king said you are not to touch a weapon until he decides what to do with you. But we still need to continue our regular duties while keeping an eye on you. So don't touch anything, all right?"

Mordred nodded and folded his arms across his chest, leaning against a wall for good measure.

Momentarily distracted, Leon studied the young knight and did not even try to be subtle about it. He searched for something, anything that looked out of place. Something he hadn't noticed before. Something that should have triggered his suspicions about who Mordred really was.

But there was nothing. Mordred looked the same as he always did. Same blue eyes, same curly hair, same mannerisms, same smile…there was something different after all, Leon realized. Mordred was smiling more easily now. And his shoulders were set a bit differently as well, as if the young knight was more relaxed, as if a layer of worry had melted away, a layer only made noticeable because of its absence.

Yet there was still nothing that visibly marked Mordred a Druid or a sorcerer. Not even now that Leon knew to look for it.

"The only mark is here, Leon," Mordred said casually, putting a hand under his right collarbone. "My Druid tattoo. I've learned well how to keep it hidden."

Leon refused to let the glimmer of guilt take root within him, because he'd made no effort to hide his scrutiny and he knew Gwaine was doing the same—he was just, in very un-Gwaine-like fashion, being a bit more subtle about it.

"That's why you never take your shirt off," Gwaine remarked. "Percival and I just thought you were embarrassed about being so scrawny."

"I'm not scrawny," Mordred retorted mildly, "I'm lean. It makes me faster and more likely to avoid a sword or other pointy objects."

Gwaine snorted, and for an instant everything had returned to normal. But it only lasted an instant.

Percival came into the armory then. Leon had seen friendlier thunderheads. The big knight greeted Leon and Gwaine, pointedly ignored Mordred, fetched a quarterstaff from the rack and left without another word.

"I am not looking forward to that discussion," Mordred mumbled.

"He feels as though you've betrayed his trust," said Leon.

Gwaine snorted again. "Can't imagine why." He slid his freshly sharpened sword into its scabbard and clapped the younger man on the shoulder, a bit harder than necessary. "Just pray you live through that day with all your limbs intact."

"That's assuming Arthur doesn't have me executed," Mordred pointed out.

Leon shook his head, finally turning his attention back to the crossbow he was repairing. "No, he won't execute you, Mordred. You'd be locked up right now if that was an option. He'll either exile you or change the laws about Druids."

When Mordred spoke again, his voice was very quiet, so quiet that Leon's ears strained to hear him clearly. "Which would you prefer?"

Leon's hands stilled in their work, and he carefully considered his words before he opened his mouth. "The laws will change someday. I know that and will welcome the change, because very little good can ever come of alienating people. But…I must say I feel the same as Percival. You earned our trust, earned the trust of the king, by lying to us. You broke our laws. There must be some payment for that."

"If you think about it, though," Gwaine said rather unhelpfully, "the only law Mordred broke was being born a Druid. And laws that punish people for something they have no control over do not belong in Camelot."

"But he is not just a Druid. He is a sorcerer," Leon argued.

"I'm standing right here," said Mordred, glancing between the two.

"He claims he hasn't used magic within Camelot," Gwaine continued, completely ignoring Mordred. "And I'm inclined to believe him. Any one of us could probably cast a simple spell, if we studied and worked at it. He has it in his blood and yet he has chosen not to use it because he wants to obey the laws. Honestly, that makes him a better man than I, because if I had magic, I'd be using it to light torches and cheat at dice and cards. And in the spirit of honesty, I'll also say that I will be disappointed if Arthur exiles you."

Both Leon and Mordred stared at Gwaine, who simply shrugged.

"Thank you, Gwaine," Mordred finally said.

"It will take some getting used to, however," Gwaine added. "If you stick around, that is."

Mordred nodded and trained his gaze on the floor as if ashamed. "I am sorry I lied to all of you. I did not have a choice. But I remain the same person. I can be the man you know and also be a Druid."

Leon sighed. There was the true problem, laid out in black and white: Could they learn to trust Mordred again, after realizing that he was capable of keeping this large a secret from them for three years? Leon considered a moment. He considered the way they fought together, as a unit; he considered how he would feel about trusting Mordred to guard his back now; he considered how much Arthur cared for the lad. "I think we can all learn to forgive you, Mordred," he said. "It will take time, some longer than others. But I am willing to give you the chance to earn my trust again. I hope Arthur feels the same."

Mordred looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. "I hoped…" his voice caught. He wiped at his eyes and then opened his mouth to continue, but never got the chance.

The armory door opened once again, and all three men turned toward the new arrival. Senga stood framed in the doorway, balanced on the balls of her feet, seemingly caught off guard by attracting the stares of three knights.

"Oh no," Gwaine exclaimed, sounding slightly horrified. "Tell me you didn't know."

Senga frowned. "Know what? Am I interrupting something?"

Suddenly, Leon realized she seemed very calm for a woman who just found out that the man she had feelings for had lied to everyone in his life. "Did you know about Mordred?" he asked incredulously. "You did, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," she said simply.

"Well that's just fantastic," Gwaine muttered. He swung around toward Mordred. "You told _her_? You kept it a secret from everyone else but told her? I'm hurt, Mordred."

"Pardon me," Senga said before Mordred could respond, "but he never actually _told_ me anything. I figured it out for myself."

"Ah, I see," Gwaine smirked. "His tattoo. Of course he would have had to explain it to you. Well, have fun with the lovebirds, Leon. I'm off to calm Percival down. Wish me luck." He sauntered out the door, leaving two furiously blushing people and one extremely uncomfortable Leon in the armory.

Leon cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I can't leave you two alone."

"That's fine," Senga said, not quite meeting his eye. That was something new for her. She was the boldest girl Leon had ever met; she had never seemed intimidated by any of the knights, had never hesitated to look them in the eye, had never acted particularly shy around any of them. Perhaps it had something to do with being raised by her father, Leon reasoned. "I only wanted to talk with Mordred a moment," she continued.

Leon nodded and deliberately focused his attention back on the crossbow. The aiming mechanism was off just slightly. Shots tended to veer to the right. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Senga step right up to Mordred, hands clasped behind her back.

"They didn't react near as badly as you thought they would," Senga spoke so softly her voice barely reached Leon's ears. He tried to ignore them, he truly did, but there was only so much he could do to give them privacy.

"Percival is taking it hard," Mordred answered. "And I haven't seen Arthur since last night. I haven't a clue how he's reacting now that he's had time to think."

"He's very calm, actually."

"You saw him?"

"I'm the queen's maid; of course I saw him. There's no way to know which way he's leaning, though, or how long it will be before he makes his decision."

There was a sigh then, and Leon tried to ignore the way Senga went up on her toes and leaned into Mordred. They had never tried to hide their relationship in any way, but…but there were some things people did not do in front of others. Leon wasn't even sure he'd seen Arthur kiss Gwen in public. And while this technically wasn't public, he was still here, and—

Leon stopped that trail of thought before it could get any more tangled and focused on the crossbow in his hands.

"I am sorry about Kara," Senga whispered.

"She chose her path."

Mordred's voice sounded hollow, somehow; curiosity got the better of Leon and he peeked at them from the corner of his eye—and then immediately forced himself to concentrate on the damn crossbow. Whatever was happening across the room was none of his business.

"If I am to be exiled," Mordred began, only to have Senga interrupt.

"If you are exiled, I'm going with you. My father will have to learn to live without me sooner or later. He'll be fine. I love you, Mordred, and I don't plan on giving you up any time soon."

There was another pause, and then Mordred murmured something too low for Leon to hear, something that made Senga laughed lightly before stepping away from him. "Until later, sir knight."

Mordred bowed. "Until later, my lady."

Leon shook his head. There was a story there, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Sir Leon," Senga acknowledged as she moved past him toward the door. Then she paused and looked back at Mordred as if he'd said something, her brows raised in surprise.

Leon glanced between them, confused and certain he was missing something. Finally he shrugged and once again returned to fiddling with the stubborn crossbow. He heard the door shut behind Senga when she left. "You are a lucky man, Mordred," he said.

"I am," the younger knight readily agreed. "Goddess only knows why she chose me."

Leon smiled at him. "If you break her heart, I may have to kill you."

Mordred stared for a moment, obviously trying to decide if he was serious or not.

"Slowly and painfully," Leon elaborated. "I'll have to ask Gwaine for some imaginative tortures."

A slow smile began to spread across Mordred's face. "I think you may have to wait until after Aonghas takes his turn at me."

"True enough." Leon paused, looking down at the crossbow in his hands. "You're good with crossbows, aren't you?"

"Not as good as Senga, but yes."

"Senga?"

"Blacksmith's daughter, remember? She knows how to handle a weapon. I almost pity the poor Saxon who thinks she's easy prey."

Leon hesitated again before handing the crossbow over to Mordred. "Don't tell Arthur, but I can't get this blasted thing to shoot straight."

Mordred chuckled. "I'll give it a go. And if I can't fix it, I'll ask Senga to."

Leon snorted. If Gwaine caught wind of that, he would never live it down.

* * *

Gwaine found Percival on the training green pummeling a straw dummy into oblivion. He knew better than to sneak up on any man when they were this angry, let alone a man half again as big as he was, so he spoke from a fair ways behind Percival. "Tell me, what did that poor dummy ever do to you?"

Percival glanced at him but did not respond.

"It's just sitting there," Gwaine continued. "It couldn't have stolen your girl, because I'm fairly certain you don't have one. Could it be that you wish it to be someone else? Someone very specific? Someone with blue eyes and a tattoo?"

"Didn't know he had a tattoo," Percival grunted between swings. "Would've painted it on the dummy with mud. Are you sure you want to continue this?"

"Well, I'm not known for making the smartest decisions."

That almost wrung a chuckle out of Percival.

Gwaine stepped around until he stood in front of Percival—but still well out of reach. He'd never seen Percival lose his temper and was not sure what to expect. He didn't actually expect Percival to attack, but he wanted room to maneuver just in case. "So tell me: why are you pummeling my favorite dummy into dust instead of talking to Mordred like the reasonable human being I know you can be?"

"Because if I talk to that little bastard right now, I will pummel him instead of the dummy and Arthur will have to exile me."

Gwaine rummaged through a basket of fruit some servant had thoughtfully left for the knights and picked out an apple, polishing it on his shirt. "Is there any particular feature you want to pound at? Or is it just the young man in general?"

Percival swung his quarterstaff even harder, the force increasing with each strike. "He lied to us, Gwaine. I trusted him at my back. I thought I knew him. And now, three years later, we find out he's a bloody _sorcerer?_ He. Lied. To. Us."

 _Crack!_

The top half of the straw dummy—as well as the top half of the stake it was tied to—toppled to the ground. Both knights stared at it for a moment.

Gwaine crunched a bite out of his apple and chewed thoughtfully. "There are three more to break, if you've a mind."

Percival rounded on him with a snarl. "Why are you so bloody calm about this?"

"Mordred's not the only one with secrets," Gwaine shrugged. "You don't even know where I'm from originally."

Percival took a step back, his expression clouding with suspicion and disbelief and not a small amount of hurt.

"I'm not a sorcerer," Gwaine added quickly. "I'm not a Druid. I don't know anything about magic. I'm an ordinary man who lost his home, just like you."

"Well that's the problem, isn't it? He's not ordinary, is he? He's…something else entirely."

Gwaine considered carefully before opening his mouth again. Percival seemed to have calmed somewhat; he leaned against the quarterstaff like it was a mere walking stick, breathing heavily and waiting for Gwaine's reply. He looked more open to advice than he had a minute ago. But Gwaine did not want to push too far too soon. "Think of it this way, my friend," he said cautiously, allowing his tone to grow serious. "You were born with strength, and he was born with magic. Two different gifts that neither one of you asked for and neither one of you can return. How would you feel if someone made laws forbidding people to have too much strength? Would you go to that kingdom and live there for three years, hiding your muscles all the while, just because you believed the king was a better man than his father? That's exactly what Mordred has been doing."

Percival visibly withdrew. His eyes darkened slightly, as if someone had closed the shutters to his mind. Shaking his head, he took a step back from Gwaine. "That doesn't make it right."

"Percival!" Gwaine called as his friend began walking away.

The big knight paused only long enough to glance back. "I'll think on what you said, Gwaine, but I can promise no more than that."

* * *

 _ **Please review!**_


	11. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: All right, here we go. The Big Decision. The first part of this chapter was actually inspired by a deleted scene from series 5. Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Ten**_

 _Three days later  
_

Arthur watched as his knights and councilors congregated, each taking their place at the Round Table. One seat remained conspicuously empty. Arthur stared at it, trying to organize his thoughts, and then took a deep breath to steady his voice. "I'm you all know why I've called you here today. A decision needs to be made about Mordred. I have thought long and hard on the matter these past three days, and I believe I have come to a decision that my conscience will be at peace with. But I value the counsel of every person at this table and I wish to hear your thoughts."

Gwen took his hand and squeezed when he paused, gently urging him on.

He smiled gratefully at her, but to say he was worried about how his knights and counselors would react was like saying he would be only a little angry if someone hurt Gwen or Merlin. "I have decided to change the laws."

A table full of shocked faces stared back at him.

"Magic saved Gwen," Arthur continued. "It has been used to heal people, to cure illness, to take away bad dreams. Not all magic is evil. Therefore, not all people who practice magic are evil. Magic is a tool to be used or misused by the people wielding it. My father believed all magic was the same. He allowed fear, ignorance, and hatred to cloud his judgement. I have as well, until now. I will try to no longer do so. I have decided to lift the ban on Druids."

Once more a shocked silence filled the room. Arthur sat down and waited.

Leon was the first to speak. "Sire, if we welcome Druids into Camelot, we will be handing Morgana the best present she could ever hope for. Her spies will be everywhere and there will be no way of knowing them from the innocent."

Arthur had been expecting this argument and was prepared for it. "That is why we will not allow them entry to the citadel itself until Morgana has been defeated. Once she is dealt with, Druids will hold the same rights as any other citizen of Camelot."

"What about the ban on magic, sire?" Percival asked quietly.

"That also will not be lifted until Morgana is dealt with. Magic will remain outlawed in Camelot for the time being."

"But you are planning to lift the ban eventually?" one of the advisers asked incredulously. "That will throw the kingdom into chaos."

"No, it will not," Arthur calmly argued. "Magic was once welcome in the kingdom, after all, and I have faith in my people. I firmly believe that leaving the ban in place will cause more harm than lifting it."

"And what if someone abuses magic after the ban is lifted?" Percival pressed. "If someone uses it to curse crops, to dry wells, to infect people with plague? What then?"

"Then they will be hunted down and put on trial like any other criminal," Arthur said.

"You are obviously set on doing this, sire," Leon stated.

"I am."

Leon glanced around the table. "Then if I may ask: Why did you call us here?"

"I called you to hear your opinions, as I said. I want to hear your concerns, your arguments, your advice. I do not want to make this decision alone. What I have told you is what I _want_ to do. But if most of you argue against it, then I will exile Mordred and the bans will remain. Because I believe in a fair and just kingdom, where decisions of this importance are not left to the king alone, where all are treated as equals. I believe we can create that kingdom in Camelot. But it will never happen if we continue to persecute people as we have persecuted sorcerers."

Silence fell once again, thick and heavy as wet wool. Arthur watched the people he trusted most in this world exchange glances and try to come to a consensus without saying a word.

"Well now," Gwaine declared, perhaps a bit too loudly. "How can we refuse a speech like that?"

Leon nodded slowly, obviously still considering the ramifications of Arthur's decision. "I am with you until the end, my lord," he finally said. "You have my full support."

One by one everyone at the table echoed the sentiment, until only Percival remained. "You support this, my lady?" he asked, looking at Gwen. "Despite having been bound to Morgana's will by sorcery?"

Arthur looked at his queen. A rush of pride filled him as she nodded. He wasn't sure—no, in fact he _knew_ he would not have come out of such a situation as gracefully as she had and he loved her all the more for it.

"Yes, Percival," she said. "Despite that, I believe Arthur is doing the right thing."

Percival stared at Arthur for another few moments. Then he finally nodded. "Perhaps one day I will agree with you, my queen. Until then, Arthur, you still have my sword and my loyalty."

"I appreciate your honestly, Percival," Arthur said. "I truly do. If anyone has any other doubts or concerns, please voice them."

"Will Sir Mordred be punished in any way?" one of the advisers asked.

"He's been confined to the castle for three days with someone watching his every move," Gwaine pointed out. "I'd say that's punishment enough."

"But he lied to the king," the adviser insisted.

"He didn't have a choice," Arthur said. "I never would have allowed him into the kingdom if I had remembered he was a Druid, let alone made him a knight. But he took the chance he was given and has proven his loyalty to me and to the people of this land. He has saved my life and the lives of the other knights multiple times. I love him like a brother, even now. So no, I do not intend to punish him further."

The adviser grumbled a bit under his breath but subsided into silence.

"Anything else?" Arthur asked. When no one spoke up, he finally allowed himself a small, victorious smile. "Then we are in agreement that the ban against Druids will be lifted and that Mordred will remain a knight of Camelot?"

"Yes, sire," Leon said after glancing around at all the nodded heads. "We are in agreement."

Arthur waved to Merlin, who stood at the door. "Bring Mordred in."

Merlin opened the door, saying something too quietly for Arthur to hear.

"No," came Mordred's voice from the hallway, ringing clearly throughout the room. "Not without her."

A chorus of chuckles swept around the table.

"It's all right, Merlin," Arthur called. "Let Senga come as well."

Mordred and Senga walked into the room hand in hand, Mordred looking like he was walking to his death and Senga…well, she looked a bit in awe. She was staring at the room, trying to take it all in.

"Are you all right, Senga?" Gwen asked.

Senga's attention finally snapped to the table and its occupants. "Yes, my lady. I don't believe I've ever been in here before, is all. It's a very beautiful room."

Mordred slowly turned his head to stare at her, and Arthur had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the young knight's slack-jawed expression of disbelief. "I'm about to be exiled," Mordred murmured just loudly enough for Arthur to hear, "and you're taking in the architecture?"

She shrugged sheepishly. "If you're exiled, so am I, and this will be the only chance I'll ever have to take in the architecture. I'm seizing the opportunity."

Gwaine laughed. "Tell me, Senga, do you have any sisters?"

Arthur cleared his throat.

"Sorry, I guess we're down to business," Gwaine said, still addressing Senga. "Tell me later?"

Senga started to nod—and then frowned at Gwaine.

"Sir Mordred, knight of Camelot," Arthur said, using what Gwen called his 'king voice' in an attempt to regain control of the situation. "I have come to a decision about what to do with you and everyone in this room is in agreement that it is the best course of action. As you know, the laws of Camelot state that Druids are banned from the kingdom. We have decided to change these laws."

Mordred and Senga both grew so still Arthur thought they stopped breathing. They did not even blink.

"The ban on Druids is to be lifted, effective immediately. However, until Morgana is defeated, I cannot allow them access to the citadel. I also cannot allow magic to be practiced in the kingdom while she still plots my death. Your knighthood stands and you will be allowed into the citadel, but you must swear to me that you will abide by the law and not use your magic until Morgana is defeated."

Mordred looked stunned. "I swear it, my lord. On the Triple Goddess herself, I swear to never use my magic against you."

That was not precisely what Arthur had asked him to swear, but he let the matter rest. "Sir Mordred, you know that knight's word is their honor. I will trust you not to break this oath."

Mordred hesitated, glancing around at everyone else. "Is that it?"

Arthur finally allowed himself to relax. "That is it. We do need to figure out how best to rewrite the laws, however, and having a Druid voice will be most helpful."

"Am I dreaming?" Senga asked softly.

"No, Senga, you are not dreaming," Arthur said. "Mordred is pardoned."

Senga threw her arms around Mordred with enough force to make him stumble back a step. He held her tightly, eyes slipping closed as she murmured something in his ear too low for Arthur to hear. Whatever she said, it made Mordred smile. When she let him go, they both had tears on their faces. She turned to Arthur and curtsied that weirdly graceful curtsy of hers that she only used on special occasions. Arthur could not help but wonder who had taught it to her. "Thank you, sire," she said. "I am more grateful than I can ever express. I will now return to my duties and let you lot trudge through the swamp that is the philosophy of law."

Another round of chuckles filled the room as she left, as well as one or two offended sniffs from the older advisers.

Gwaine sat silently and looked as though he wanted to go with her.

* * *

Mordred hurried to meet Senga in their meadow before sunset. If he was quick enough he would make it before the sun disappeared completely under the horizon. As he pushed his way past the final trees, he saw her standing in the light evening mist with her arms held straight out to the sides, palms and face up to the sky, slowly spinning in a circle, as if she was soaking in the very essence of the last golden rays of day.

He deliberately stepped on a twig to alert her to his presence, and she turned to him with a smile.

Then he was running toward her, sweeping her up in his arms, spinning around so fast her feet flew out behind her; her laughter rang through the mist, as pure and unbridled as the stars, and he spun until dizziness made him stumble. They fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs, still clutching each other, still laughing.

"I love you," Mordred gasped, still fighting to catch his breath. "Will you marry me?"

Senga pushed herself just far enough away to look at him. "You already know the answer to that."

Mordred held her gaze steadily. "But I couldn't ask before, not knowing if I could ever make good on my word. Now I can. We can be bound in a Druid ceremony with everyone knowing who I am, not just you. Senga, will you marry me?"

Tears welled in her eyes as she nodded, whispering her answer in a voice hoarse with emotion.

Mordred kissed her, held her close, marveling a little bit every time he heard her murmur the word against his skin.

 _"Yes."_

* * *

Camelot after sundown was an ethereal thing, otherworldly almost. The absence of the sun left only flickering candles and torches to light the hallways, casting shifting shadows and catching odd sounds that had no place in the light of day. In a matter of moments every day at sunset, the citadel transformed from a place of stone and mortar to a place of dark nooks and secrets that fled as soon as one looked at them straight.

Merlin hardly noticed. He wanted only to finish his duties, go home, and sleep for two days. Pausing for one final look around Arthur's room, he put a hand on the door in anticipation. "Will that be all, my lord?" he asked.

Arthur leaned against the far wall, staring out the window with a faraway look on his face—a look Merlin knew all too well. A look that sent his hopes shattering as glass against granite.

Merlin reluctantly took a couple steps farther into the room. "My lord? Will that be all?"

"Am I doing the right thing, Merlin?" Arthur asked softly. "With Mordred and the Druids, I mean."

There was a look Arthur got every once in a while, when he paused but didn't really want Merlin to talk yet, and Merlin usually ignored it. Not this time. This time Merlin kept his mouth shut and waited.

"You told me once that magic would never have a place in Camelot," Arthur said slowly.

Merlin was confused until he remembered: the Disir. Three years ago. Mordred's life hanging in the balance, back when he was still fated to kill Arthur. And perhaps he still was. But now Merlin had no way to know.

Arthur finally looked at him then, breaking his attention away from the confusing circle of thoughts in his head. There was no accusation in Arthur's eyes, only a need to hear the truth. "Do you still believe that? Do you believe I'm doing the wrong thing letting magic back into the kingdom?"

Merlin started to consider what to say—but then he realized there really wasn't anything for him to consider anymore. According to Kilgharrah, all the prophecies were useless now. The one about Arthur meeting his end at Camlann had literally crumbled to dust. "No, Arthur, I don't believe that anymore. Things have changed since then."

"So you think I'm doing the right thing?"

"I believe," Merlin said carefully, "all people should be treated fairly, regardless of the circumstances of their birth."

Arthur nodded as if Merlin had lain to rest all his doubts. "That is what I am hoping to achieve by changing these laws. That will be all, Merlin."

Merlin practically bolted for the door. He wanted to ignore the knot of worry in the pit of his stomach, the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, the panic over Morgana's sudden silence—she had been quiet far too long, she was planning something, she _had_ to be—he wanted to ignore it all for a few hours and just sleep.

So when he reached his and Gaius's little apartment, he didn't look too hard. He didn't think twice about not seeing Gaius. And when he went to his room, he didn't stop to wonder about the faint smell that didn't belong. He didn't realize it was emanating from a box under his bed. All Merlin did was flop face down and prepare to sleep as long as he could.

* * *

The next morning, Percival waited in the armory for Mordred. The king had scheduled an announcement this morning; all of the citadel and the lower town knew about it and people were already crowding into the square so they could hear firsthand what was so important to warrant an announcement during war time. Unlike those people, Percival knew what the king was going to say.

But that was not why he waited for Mordred. He waited because he had not really spoken to the young man since Mordred had been outed as a Druid. Percival knew he needed to. They were at war. They would need to be able to trust each other. Percival needed to see if that was even possible anymore.

Leon and Gwaine came and went, arming themselves lightly, strapping on their ceremonial cloaks for the king's announcement.

And then Mordred came in, yawning and slightly rumpled and not looking at all like a sorcerer. "Morning, Percival," he greeted absentmindedly while reaching for his sword, but then he must have realized how Percival was watching him, because he stopped and met his gaze. There was no guile in Mordred's face, no wariness, no fear. He simply waited for judgement.

Percival stared at Mordred. He waited for the hatred, the blind rage, the disgust to settle in the pit of his stomach; but all he felt was hurt and betrayal. "You lied to me, Mordred," he said quietly. "You lied to all of us."

The younger man nodded, tears in his eyes. "I know, and I am so very sorry I did. You are my friend and I hated to deceive you. But I had no choice. I hope we can remain friends."

"I hated you for it. I was angry enough to want to beat that pretty head right off your shoulders."

Mordred flinched a little but nodded again. "You had every right to want to."

"But that was only for the first day." Percival paused, trying to find more than the sliver of compassion currently in his heart, and was unable to. "I can't forgive you just yet, Mordred. I'll fight with you. I'll trust you to watch my back. But I cannot forgive you yet."

* * *

"Well, I think that went rather well," Gwaine declared as the knights filed into the throne room. "No riots, no deaths, no shouted protests. Granted, all the citizens of Camelot may be in shock because you turned their world upside down, but for now, shock is keeping them calm."

Arthur tried hard not to roll his eyes. "They'll adjust. I have faith in my people."

"Not as much as they have in you, sire," Leon added. "That's why they'll adjust. Because they have faith that everything you do is what's best for them."

"Thank you, Leon," Arthur clapped a hand to his friend's shoulder. Then he glanced around the room with a frown. "Where's Merlin? I haven't seen him at all today."

"My lord!"

Everyone swung around to face the source of the panicked cry. He looked like a scout, ragged and worn as he was, and he looked as though he might collapse from exhaustion at any moment.

"Sire," the scout panted, "I bring news of Morgana."

"What is it?" Arthur asked, instantly on full alert.

"She's amassed an army, sire. They're marching for the border as we speak."

* * *

 _ **Next chapter (cue scary music): Battle of Camlann!**_

 _ **Please review!**_


	12. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: I struggled with this chapter a bit, but I like how it turned out. I hope you do too :)  
**

 **Disclaimer: I still don't own _Merlin._ Shocking, I know.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Eleven**_

Senga sat in the healer's tent, worrying at a frayed hem on her sleeve. "It's harder, isn't it?" she asked. "Staying here?"

Gwen nodded slowly. "Yes, it is. I've done both. I've gone with them to fight and have had to stay behind, and this is much harder. This is something they can't do, with all their weapons and armor and willingness to die. This takes a kind of courage I'm not sure most men have, to be honest. When you're fighting, you can't think much, because if you stop to think you're dead. When you're here, all you can do is think. Until the wounded start coming in. And then it takes courage to keep going, because…"

"Because every face that comes in, every dead or dying man, could be _him_ ," Senga finished quietly. "And every one that comes increases the chances of it being him."

Gwen nodded again. Then she reached over to squeeze Senga's hand. "I'm glad you're here this time. It's nice to have company."

"I'll try not to take that as an insult, my lady," Gaius called from the other side of the tent where he was organizing bandages.

Gwen laughed a little. "I'm sorry, Gaius, I didn't mean it like that."

The physician came over with a stack of extra bandages for their side of the tent. "It will be nice to have a third set of hands," he said. "I'm sure you'll be invaluable help, Senga."

Senga glanced between them, praying her voice held steady. "I'm not sure about that. I've never treated anything more serious than a cut from a kitchen knife."

"You'll be fine," Gwen assured her.

"How do you know?"

"Because you'll have to be."

Oddly enough, Senga felt as though that was more reassuring than anything else Gwen could have said.

* * *

 _"Mordred!"_

That voice was unmistakable even through the hoarseness and the rage clouding the scream.

Mordred did not want to look, but found himself turning around anyway, searching the mass of bodies, the hills, the cliffs until he saw her.

She stood alone up on a cliff. The stars lit her silhouette from behind while the fires of battle flickered across her face. For once, for perhaps the first time, the cold rage that had claimed her soul was truly visible.

"Morgana," he whispered.

She nodded as if she heard him, but she could not have. She raised a hand.

Mordred felt her magic slam into him, grab hold, and fling his body toward the cliff face. He could do nothing but brace for the impact. But instead of breaking him against stone, her magic lifted him. He sailed into the air, rising higher and higher, until the invisible grip released and he landed with a graceless _thump_ at her feet.

Mordred sprang up as quickly as he could, reaching for his sword—only to grasp empty air. He had dropped it somewhere.

"Come now, Mordred," Morgana taunted. "It's not like you're defenseless." She flicked her fingers again and Mordred doubled over, gasping for breath. It felt as though she had driven a battering ram into his chest. "Or did Arthur make you swear not to use your magic?"

 _Wham!_ Another punch to the gut sent Mordred to his knees. He struggled upright.

"Your precious king hates you, Mordred."

 _Wham!_ White-hot pain burst across one side of his face, as if she had backhanded him with flaming coals. Mordred cried out in equal amounts pain and shock. He lifted a hand to his face, more than half expecting his skin to be blistered or even melted away—but it felt normal.

"He didn't kill you but he still can't accept you for who you truly are."

 _Wham!_ Another battering ram to the chest that forced all the air from his lungs. Black spots danced almost gleefully across his vision.

Morgana stepped closer, whispering in his ear as he gasped for breath and struggled desperately to stay conscious.

"You know I'm right. He will _never_ accept you."

Mordred did something he had not done since he was young. He closed his eyes, reaching for that place in his soul where his magic lay dormant, and he called it all forth. He allowed it to course through his veins, as much as he could possibly draw out; it slithered in golden strands that twined through muscle and bone, shimmered under his skin, built until he thought his body would burst apart from the pure energy. Then he opened his eyes. And he screamed.

Morgana flew backward. She fell hard, striking her head on the ground with a sickening _crack_.

Mordred collapsed, barely conscious, mind and body alike teetering on the edge of exhaustion.

Impossibly, Morgana stood up.

"You are powerful, Mordred," she rasped, holding a hand to the side of her head. "But you never learned moderation." She knelt down beside him, staggering just a little bit, and pressed a hilt into his hand. "Let's see how much your king truly loves you."

Mordred wanted to plunge the blade into her heart. But he simply did not have the energy anymore. A tear slipped across his face and dripped onto the cold rock. _Forgive me, Senga._

And then Morgana whispered a spell into his ear, and he knew no more.

* * *

Arthur bent over the body of a Camelot soldier, checking for signs of life. He only barely heard the _snick_ of boot against rock behind him. Reaching for his sword, he turned and saw…

"Mordred?" Arthur asked in confusion. "Where've you been? I thought you dead."

The young knight raised a blade. "Get away from him." His voice was level, but there was warning in it. A promise of death.

Arthur frowned. "Mordred, it's me. It's Arthur."

 _"Do you mock me?"_ Mordred shouted, suddenly infuriated. "King Arthur lies dead, right there, and _you will not touch him!"_

Starlight flashed on the cold edge of Mordred's blade as he thrust it forward.

Arthur, so tired he could barely walk, only just managed to avoid the blow. His muscles automatically returned the attack, his sword slicing across Mordred's side. The young knight fell to his knees with a hand pressed to his wound.

Arthur could not believe what he had just done.

"No, no, no," he whispered, taking Mordred's sword away from him. "No, Mordred, you can't die. Not by my hand. Senga will kill me. _Gwen_ will kill me."

Mordred looked at him. His gaze was bleary, unfocused, but for a moment Arthur thought he saw sense return. But then his lip curled and he tried to shove Arthur away. "Get away from me," Mordred said, his voice already beginning to slur. "Just kill me and be done with it."

"Forgive me," Arthur murmured, and then slammed the hilt of his sword into Mordred's head. Not hard enough to kill. Just hard enough to put him to sleep.

Slinging Mordred's arm across his shoulders, Arthur struggled to his feet. But he was still exhausted from the battle and staggered under the extra weight, legs trembling. He realized he might not be able to make it to the healers in time.

"Arthur!"

Arthur swung around toward the familiar voice, not quiet believing his ears or his eyes as he watched a familiar figure run across the battlefield. "Merlin?" he questioned as his friend came closer. "What are you…how…I thought you'd left."

Merlin reached for Mordred, reached to pull him away from Arthur. "Leave him," he said harshly.

"No, I will not."

"He just tried to kill you, Arthur!"

Arthur took a step away from his friend. "He's been enchanted. Morgana did something to him."

"Or he's been waiting for his chance to strike ever since he arrived in Camelot!"

Arthur shook his head, not understanding where all the hatred shining in Merlin's eyes and voice was coming from. He realized he'd never seen Merlin hate anyone before. Merlin disliked plenty of people, sure, but hate like this was another monster entirely. "He didn't know me, Merlin. He looked straight at me and didn't recognize me. He saw someone else. He said I was already dead."

Merlin paused, his jaw clenching. "Fine," he bit off. "But we can't take him back to camp."

"Why not?" Arthur asked, the exhaustion making his thoughts fuzzy.

"Senga," Merlin said simply.

Arthur started to ask what she had to do with this and then _oh._ He thought about how he would feel if Gwen didn't recognize him. He imagined how she would feel if it were the other way around. And he knew Merlin was right. "Where can we go?"

"This way. We'll have to be careful. There's still Saxons crawling around everywhere." Merlin started to turn away but then stopped and bent to retrieve a sword from the ground. The sword Mordred had been carrying. Frowning slightly, Merlin strapped it to his belt.

As Merlin led him off, into the wilderness, Arthur didn't stop to think about where Merlin had come from, about how he knew where to go, about his amazing proficiency at sneaking around a battlefield, or about why he had seemed so fascinated by Mordred's sword. Arthur didn't even think about any of those things when they finally stopped moving and Merlin built a fire.

"You should get some rest," Merlin said. "I'll check Mordred's wound."

Too tired to even argue with Merlin for giving orders when he shouldn't, Arthur rested his head on a log and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

"You have to tell him."

"I know."

"Mordred won't survive with any treatment I can give him. You'll have to do something."

"Maybe he shouldn't survive."

"Arthur said Morgana enchanted him and that's why he tried to kill Arthur."

"Arthur could be wrong. Or I might not be able to break the enchantment."

"Merlin, look at me. Please at least tell me you're going to try."

Arthur struggled toward wakefulness, trying to decide if the arguing voices belonged to dreams or reality.

"I will try, Gaius."

Arthur blinked his eyes open to see Merlin and Gaius standing together on the other side of the fire pit. They both turned toward him, matching expressions of surprise on their faces. Arthur would have laughed if he was slightly more awake. "What are you going to try?" he asked groggily.

The two men shared a glance.

"I need," Merlin said slowly, hesitating slightly after every word, "to try to heal Mordred with magic."

Arthur did laugh at that. "Very funny, Merlin. You're not a sorcerer."

* * *

"You're a sorcerer," Arthur said, his voice flat.

Merlin winced. "I'm sorry I lied to you. I didn't have a choice. Uther would have executed me when I first showed up in Camelot if I hadn't."

"And after he died? What about then? Why couldn't you trust me then?"

"Because…" Merlin took a deep breath, tried to remain calm, and did something he was good at: he told Arthur a truth he didn't want to hear. "You weren't ready to trust a sorcerer."

Arthur turned away, his hands balling into impossibly tight fists the way they did when he wanted to hit something but knew he shouldn't.

"We need to stick together, Arthur," Merlin said. "Mordred doesn't stand a chance if we split up now."

A long moment of silence stretched between the two men.

"You were my friend," Arthur whispered, only just loud enough for Merlin to hear. Merlin winced; he had said _were_. "For…what, twelve years now? _Twelve years, Merlin!_ Did you ever even consider—" Arthur broke off abruptly, still stubbornly not looking at him, and his shoulders heaved with a deep sigh. "It's easier for me to believe it's been twelve years than it is for me to believe you've been lying all that time." He faced Merlin once again, but his eyes were guarded, suspicious, shuttered. "For Mordred's sake, I'll work with you. And under the newly revised laws, I have no grounds to exile you from Camelot. But I think it's going to be a very long time before I can trust you again, Merlin."

Then Arthur walked away.

Merlin watched him go. He had tried to brace himself for Arthur's anger, had tried to prepare himself for rejection, but it obviously hadn't worked. He felt as though his heart was shriveling within his chest. Following Arthur back to the fire, he told himself that it would pass, that they'd been through worse together.

A traitorous voice whispered at the back of his head, _worse? What had been worse than this?_

Merlin didn't know.

* * *

"Where will you go?" Gaius asked softly.

Merlin barely even glanced his way. "To Avalon. The Saxons are scared of that lake, for good reason. And if I can't reverse whatever spell Morgana placed on Mordred, the Sidhe might be able to."

"They'll ask a price," Gaius pointed out, hating to play devil's advocate but knowing someone had to. "Arthur won't know how to talk to them."

"Then it's a good thing I do."

Gaius frowned. He had found over the years that a silent frown spoke more to Merlin than any amount of words.

As always, Merlin's defenses crumbled just a little bit. "I'll look after him, Gaius. Both of them. I'll make sure Arthur doesn't pay too high a price for Mordred's sanity. Take this with you," he said, showing Gaius a sword wrapped in a blanket before strapping it to the saddle. "Keep it hidden and lock it in the vault when you get to Camelot. Morgana forged it in dragon's breath. It's too dangerous to have two of these around at once."

Gaius pulled him into a hug. "Be sure to look after yourself, as well, my boy. Arthur will come around eventually."

"Boy?" Merlin repeated, feigning outrage. "I'm thirty years old, Gaius."

"You'll always be my boy, no matter how old you get, Merlin," Gaius said quietly, and then pulled away. Merlin looked to be on the verge of tears. "Get that pack secured," Gaius instructed, suddenly having to fight tears himself. "I'll go speak to Arthur."

Arthur was hovering over Mordred as if guarding him. Gaius hoped the intention wasn't to guard him from Merlin.

"Sire," Gaius greeted carefully.

Arthur nodded to him. "Gaius. You knew, didn't you? All along. You knew Merlin was—" he cut himself off abruptly. " _Is_ a sorcerer."

"Yes, sire. I knew."

"Why did you never tell anyone?"

"Because I love him like he's my own son," Gaius said, that simple truth coming much more easily than most truths.

For a moment, a brief half-second in time, Gaius would swear Arthur looked jealous. But it vanished so quickly that Gaius thought he must have imagined it.

"How could he have lied to me for so long?" the king asked quietly. His shoulders slumped a little, his head dipped, his hands hung loose at his sides; he looked nothing like a king. In that moment, he was just another man who had discovered a wholly different side in someone he thought he knew.

"Necessity, sire," Gaius said simply. "Some say he is the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth. He had to keep himself alive in order to keep you alive over the years. I know it's not my place, sire, but let me say this: I am proud of Merlin, and I have never regretted helping him keep his secret. And I know it's a lot to ask, but perhaps you could try to understand why he did it."

Arthur glanced at him in surprise, and Gaius offered him a small bow, the habit too ingrained to ignore now. Then Merlin brought him his horse, and Gaius left, praying to the beat of hooves that the two men would find a way to still be friends.

* * *

"Why do you hate him?" Arthur asked quietly.

Merlin started to shrug, pass it off as a joke—abandoning the persona of an idiot wasn't as easy as he thought it would be. He glanced at Mordred, who lay bound and gagged next to Arthur. The young knight was convinced that both Arthur and Merlin were Saxons who had kidnapped him, and that the 'real' Arthur and Merlin were dead. Merlin took a deep breath and tried to get his thoughts in order. "He was destined to kill you."

"According to who?"

"According to all the seers and soothsayers and dragons in the world," Merlin said casually. "Every last one of them said Mordred was the Druid boy destined to kill King Arthur."

Arthur looked as if he wanted to ask about the dragons but decided against it. "How long have you known that?"

"Ever since he first showed up in Camelot."

"Since I made him a knight?"

"No, since the _first_ time. When he was still a boy and we saved him."

Arthur sent him an odd look. "You helped save him thinking he would someday kill me?"

"It was a simpler time. I couldn't let a boy die for 'ifs' and 'somedays' then."

"But you would now?" The question was accusatory.

Anger stirred in Merlin's blood. Anger at the accusation, at Arthur for assuming the worst, at himself. Finally meeting Arthur's gaze, Merlin allowed some of that anger to flavor his voice. "I've done things I'm not proud of, Arthur. Like telling you magic would never have a place in Camelot. Like refusing to help Morgana when she didn't even know I could help her. I'm responsible for how she turned out. I'm responsible for all the destruction she's caused." Vaguely, Merlin could feel tears welling in his eyes. He'd never spoken of this to anyone. Not even Gaius. "I've had to turn my back on others who needed help. I've had to lie and manipulate and deceive. Everything I've done, I've done for you and the kingdom, and only very rarely did I do something I actually thought was the right thing to do. But if I had to, I would do it all again. Just to keep you safe."

Appearing faintly stunned, Arthur looked back down at the fire and subsided into silence.

Merlin blinked and the tears finally fell.

* * *

Arthur wasn't sure what to believe anymore. It took nearly three days to reach Avalon. In those three days, he had watched as Merlin healed Mordred's wound almost completely, as Merlin hid their tracks from Saxons and created smoke in the distance, as Merlin reached out with an invisible hand and yanked a Saxon from his horse, as Merlin systematically destroyed almost everything Arthur had come to know about the man. He watched and he understood that Merlin had done it all before. And he knew why. He knew Merlin had done it all for him. But he was still grappling with _accepting_ it all, accepting this new Merlin that really wasn't new at all.

This Merlin was far from an idiot. This Merlin wasn't clumsy—well, not _as_ clumsy. This Merlin never flinched away from anything. This Merlin had been there all along and Arthur had never noticed.

 _How did I never notice?_

"Careful," Merlin's voice broke into Arthur's attention. "You might break something if you keep thinking so hard."

Arthur automatically reached to smack him upside the head, but Merlin ducked his hand easily. That was new as well. "You're still my servant, Merlin, so watch your tone or you'll be polishing old armor for a week."

They both paused as they realized what Arthur had just said.

"Still?" Merlin asked quietly.

 _Despite everything?_ was what Arthur heard in his tone.

Arthur hesitated a moment, but realized he didn't have to think about his answer. It would take some time before he adjusted to this new Merlin. But he didn't want to lose his friend. So he nodded and clapped a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "Still."

* * *

 _ **Yeah, this chapter fought me a bit. It didn't turn out like I thought it would, but it feels better this way. Trust me when I say the first draft was horrible. Next up: more Kilgharrah and knights and you get to see Senga's temper :)  
**_

 _ **All right, I'll stop babbling now. Please review!**_


	13. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: Usually I'm pretty good at coming up with something to say here. Today I'm drawing a blank. So here's the chapter. Enjoy!  
**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twelve**_

"Young warlock, I expect you have a good reason for this," Kilgharrah growled, as unfriendly as Merlin had ever heard him.

Arthur was still staring at the dragon in utter disbelief.

Merlin hurried to speak before Arthur said something stupid. "I told Arthur about my magic, but he's not why I called you. I need your help breaking a spell."

The dragon kept a suspicious eye on Arthur while turning toward Merlin. "What kind of spell?"

"I don't know. It's Mordred. Morgana enchanted him somehow during the battle. He thinks we're Saxons and that we killed the 'real' Arthur and Merlin. We've kept him bound and gagged most the time these past few days. I haven't tried anything because I didn't want to make it worse. I've never seen anything like this before."

"I would first recommend not going to the Sidhe," the dragon advised. "They would demand entirely too high a price. You can fix this, with a little help."

Merlin glanced at the lake. A vision flashed in front of his eyes—a memory of a vision, really; he saw Arthur lying in a funeral boat and watched as his own magic lit the flames. Merlin flinched away and tried to focus on the dragon again. "What can I do for him, Kilgharrah? I don't even know what kind of spell Morgana used."

Arthur sent him a look when he said the dragon's name.

Merlin willed him to keep his mouth shut.

"You have to get the girl," the dragon announced.

"What girl?" Merlin asked, confused. "Morgana?"

"No," Kilgharrah drew the word out, like he always did when he thought Merlin was being especially dense. "The girl more important to Mordred than life itself."

"Senga?" Arthur asked. "No, that's not an option. There has to be another way."

"It is the _only_ option, King of Camelot," the dragon growled. "Believe me when I say I know much more about magic than you ever will. Senga is the key to helping your Druid boy."

Merlin broke in before the situation escalated. "Is there an incantation, or a potion, anything I need to do?"

Kilgharrah glared at Arthur for another few seconds. "No," he finally said without even looking at Merlin. "Morgana could not have had the time to weave an intricate spell in his mind. When he sees friend, he thinks they are foe. It is a rather simple spell, if I remember correctly, and rather easily broken, which is why she has not used it before now."

"What does Senga need to do?"

The dragon finally looked at him again. "Convince him of the truth," he said simply.

Arthur frowned. "How's she supposed to do that?" He swung around to face Merlin, looking slightly outraged. "She's not a sorceress, is she?"

"Not as far as I know," Merlin assured him quickly.

"Then how's she going to help?"

"They're in love."

Arthur snorted. "And that's supposed to break an enchantment?"

"You should not be so quick to scoff at the power of love, King of Camelot," the dragon admonished. "It has saved your own life in the past."

Arthur looked stunned. "When?"

Merlin resisted the urge to shush him. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"Only that the longer you wait, the more firmly the spell takes hold in Mordred's mind. It has been more than two days already, you say? You need to get the girl as soon as you can if you wish to save the Druid boy." The dragon spread his wings, ready to take off.

"Wait!" Merlin cried. "I hate to ask, Kilgharrah, and I will not order you, but would you please take a message to Gaius that we need her? Please?"

Kilgharrah held perfectly still, wings outstretched, muscles bunched and ready to release. Merlin had not seen the dragon look so much like a predator since the attack on Camelot. Finally the dragon nodded. "I will do this for you, young warlock. And I hope this is not the last we meet." With that, he was gone.

Arthur stared as the dragon's form rapidly shrank into the distance. "You can command dragons," he said.

Merlin glanced at him, and had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. "Yes. I'm a Dragon Lord, like my father before me."

"You told me I killed it."

"And I'm not sorry about that."

Arthur looked at him sharply but said nothing.

"I've only been able to save your life more times than I can count because of him," Merlin said. "Kilgharrah and Gaius were the only ones who knew about my magic. They were the only ones I didn't have to hide anything from." _And Lancelot,_ he remembered with a pang, but decided not to tell Arthur. He'd had enough shocks for one day.

Arthur nodded slowly. "Merlin, I've been thinking a lot these past days."

"I could tell." Merlin painted his face with what he hoped was an innocent expression. "I could see the smoke coming from your ears. We're lucky the Saxons didn't see it."

"I'm serious, Merlin," Arthur said, and Merlin realized he really was. "I don't think I understand everything you've done for me over the years. I'm not sure I ever will. And you did it all knowing that. You never asked for recognition or reward even once."

"That's not why I did it," Merlin said, meaning every word.

"I know. I just wanted to say…thank you."

Merlin was certain he misheard. "I'm sorry, what?"

Arthur held his gaze. _"Thank you,_ Merlin. For everything you've done for Camelot…and for me."

Staggered, Merlin almost forgot how to stand. Somehow he managed to answer. "You're welcome."

Arthur smiled a little.

"Is there any way to get you to say that in front of witnesses?" Merlin asked. Old habits and all that.

"Not a chance."

* * *

Gwen focused on the papers on her desk and tried her very best to not look at the window. Because if she looked at the window, she would wonder about Arthur—about what he was doing right now, if he was still all right, whether Merlin was still with him, if he'd forgiven Merlin yet, how Mordred was faring—and if she wondered about Arthur, she would not get anything done for an hour. So she kept her head bent over treaties and requests of news of the battle at Camlann and various other documents of import and she tried not to look at the damn window.

A knock at the door broke into her concentration. She picked her head up gratefully and called them in. "Gaius," she greeted, "what can I do for you?"

"I received a message from Arthur, my lady," Gaius said.

The papers on her desk may as well have ceased to exist. "What did it say?" she asked eagerly. They hadn't gotten any direct news from Arthur or Merlin since the battle.

"Merlin found a way to reverse the spell on Mordred, but apparently he needs Senga's help."

Gwen paused. "Gaius, I can't send her out after them. Saxons are still everywhere. They're thick as lice between here and Lake Avalon."

Gaius quirked a brow at her comparison but didn't comment. "The knights would have to accompany her."

"But they don't know about Merlin."

Her protest hung in the air. Gwen desperately reached for some of that wisdom that Arthur always said she had.

"My lady, they need her as soon as possible," Gaius said. "There's no other way to break the spell."

Gwen nodded slowly. "Very well. I will deal with our information leak and then send Gwaine and Percival with her."

"If I may…"

Gwen nodded again, almost impatiently this time. She didn't like being forced into a course of action like this. "You know you can speak your mind, Gaius."

"It might be wise to send Leon as well. His more logical way of thinking may help smooth the shock."

She had hoped to keep Leon around just in case there was an attack on the citadel, but saw the truth in Gaius's words. "You're right. All three will go with Senga."

Gaius paused on his way to the door. "Does she even know Mordred is with Arthur?"

"No," Gwen said, smiling a little at the memory. "She thinks he's missing and that Arthur and Merlin are looking for him. I nearly had to put her under house arrest to keep her from joining the 'search.'"

Gaius's brows nearly disappeared into his hair.

Gwen bit back a laugh.

"She's always been so sweet," Gaius wondered. "I never thought she would turn into a spitfire under pressure."

Gwen sobered quickly. "Honestly, I probably would have reacted the same way if Arthur was the one missing. I would want to be out there turning over every blade of grass if that's what it took to find him." She paused, lost in thought a moment, then she winced. "I'll have to tell her the truth myself. It's the least I can do."

She was not looking forward to that conversation.

* * *

 _"Wait!"_

Morgana held up a hand to emphasize her command.

The Saxons with her lowered their weapons slowly. A bit too slowly for her tastes. She preferred her orders obeyed instantly, not gradually.

Morgana returned her attention to the unexpected prize at hand. "You're from Camelot, aren't you?" she asked, despite knowing the answer already.

The man on the ground, clutching at an arrow in his leg and gasping for breath, glared at her. "I will die before I tell you anything, witch."

Once, that barb would have stung. Once, Morgana would have flinched, maybe even cried at the loathing in his voice. Once, she would have cared. Today, she leaned over him with a smile designed to terrify. It seemed to be working. "I doubt that very much, messenger boy."

* * *

Senga was still fuming. They were half a day's ride away from Camelot already, but to her they seemed to be moving slower than crystallized honey. As far as she was concerned, they couldn't get to Avalon soon enough, Saxons be damned.

She still couldn't believe Gwen had lied to her about Mordred. _We wanted to protect you,_ the queen had said. As if Senga needed protection. As if she wouldn't have realized he was enchanted the instant he didn't recognize her. Knowing he was enchanted and with Arthur would have been much easier for her to bear than thinking he was missing and likely dead. Gwen should've known better. Wouldn't she have rather heard the truth about Arthur?

"Senga?" Leon interrupted her furious thoughts. "Do we need to slow the pace?"

Senga glared at him. "Honestly, I wouldn't mind if we stepped it up a bit."

He looked taken aback.

She tried to remind herself that he was one of the kindest men she had ever met and, with that in mind, tried to temper her glare a bit. But then she remembered he had kept the truth about Mordred from her and the tempering effort was wasted.

"You're not accustomed to hard travel," Leon pointed out. "You might wear yourself out."

"I don't care," she said, barely keeping the snarl out of her voice. "The queen said the sooner we get to Mordred the better. I don't care if I'm exhausted when we arrive. Mordred needs my help."

Leon wisely backed down.

Senga mumbled curses under her breath.

Gwaine, riding beside her, gave her a look. "Now, Senga, I'm surprised at you. Where did a nice girl learn to talk like that?"

She felt her lips start to twitch upward and forced them back down into a flat line. "I was raised by a blacksmith, remember?"

"Better not keep it up, you might make Leon blush."

This time the grudging smile showed before she could prevent it. Then she looked at Gwaine, really looked at him, for the first time since Mordred's secret had come to light. "You're being very calm about this," she noticed.

Gwaine quickly fixed his eyes back on the road. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"You are a bit of a hothead, Sir Gwaine," she said, putting a little twist on the honorific. "Yet you stayed remarkably calm after word about Mordred being a Druid got out. Why is that, exactly?"

He looked at her again, and she had to resist the urge to lean away from the sudden fierceness in his gaze. "Mordred is not the only one with secrets," Gwaine said, his voice level despite the heat of anger in his eyes. "And you are trying to divert attention so everyone else will stop bothering you and start bothering me."

Senga lifted her chin. "No, I'm not. I'm honestly curious about why you accepted him so easily. But I see I was wrong to ask. Forgive me, _sir_."

Nudging her heels into her horse's sides, she moved up to ride alongside Percival instead. The big knight glanced back at Gwaine, glanced at her, and then looked straight ahead.

"He doesn't much like it when people start prying into things that are too personal," Percival said softly.

"I can see that," Senga bit off. Then she winced at the rancor in her voice. "I'm sorry, Percival."

He waved a hand in the air as if brushing away a fly. "No apology necessary, Senga. This has been a trying day for you."

Senga snorted.

"Not that I blame it on you being a woman," he said quickly. "I probably would have reacted much worse to people keeping secrets from me. I did react worse, actually. So go ahead and be angry with us, for as long as you wish. We probably deserve worse for lying to you."

Senga froze for a moment. Acceptance was about the last thing she had expected. Swearing inwardly, she realized it was much harder to be angry with someone who just sat there and let her be angry. Tears sprang to her eyes—she wiped them immediately, not out of shame; she simply did not want to explain why she was suddenly crying. Percival saw the motion, however, and the look of sheer panic that crossed his face almost made her laugh.

But then he leaned closer. "Let me tell you a secret," he whispered, motioning her over.

Unable to resist, Senga tilted her head toward him.

"Do you know why the queen told you about Mordred herself?"

Senga frowned and shook her head.

"She didn't want any of us showing up with blackened eyes after delivering the news."

A chuckle rose in her throat. Senga swallowed it with some difficulty and instead smiled slowly. "There's a reason Arthur picked her."

Percival's eyes widened almost comically. "You think you can actually reach my eye?"

She almost hit him. She settled for trying to glare a hole into his head.

He laughed.

"Thank you," she said suddenly. "For distracting me."

Percival nodded easily and straightened in his saddle. "I wanted someone to distract me from—" he coughed nervously. "So it's the only thing I could think to do."

"I heard you took it pretty hard," she gently prodded.

He didn't seem to need clarification on the new topic. "Morgana and her army of immortal soldiers razed my entire village. I never considered that magic might be used for something other than evil. When I heard about Mordred, I was livid."

"And now?"

"Now I don't know what to think." Percival sighed a little and fell silent for a moment. He stared at the road, but Senga suspected he wasn't seeing it. "When the news came that Morgana had enchanted him, I didn't think about him as a sorcerer. I was worried for my friend. I still am."

Senga wasn't sure what to say. He had successfully distracted her for a second there, and now he had reminded her of why she was on horseback traveling through Saxon-infested forests. Worry pooled in her belly; tendrils snuck up to tug at her heart and fog her mind.

Percival shrugged. "I'm sure I'll forgive him eventually," he said with a tone that was just a little too light. Then he must have glanced at her again, because his tone gentled considerably. "We _will_ get him back, Senga."

The tears pricked at the backs of her eyes again. She let them fall this time, knowing that she would feel worse if she held them back—but she also straightened her spine and lifted her head. "I know."

* * *

Morgana pushed her horse faster and then faster still. The poor beast would likely be dead by the time she arrived, but she didn't care. This was an opportunity she would never have again.

The three people she hated most in the world, all in one place, with no army or walls to hide behind. The brother who had stolen her throne, the sorcerer who had thwarted her time after time, and the boy who she had loved like a brother and who had stabbed her in the back—literally.

She had to admit, she was a bit surprised that Mordred still lived. That little spell she had used to reorganize his brain was not near as potent as it could have been, given time to prepare, but it still should have brought him death from a Camelot blade. No matter. He would not live much longer. None of them would.

 _I'm coming for you, Emrys._

* * *

 ** _We're getting close to the end now. Just one more chapter and then the epilogue. I'm going to miss writing this story._**

 ** _Please review!_**


	14. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: Last full-length chapter. Yeah, I'm definitely going to miss this. I'll miss you lovely reviewers too :) But hey, don't ever hesitate to send a review, no matter when you might be reading this. Reviews are always appreciated, even if they come years after finishing a story. But since we're not actually done yet (there's still an epilogue), I shall stop babbling and let you get to this chapter full of heartbreak and tears.  
**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Thirteen**_

A chill raced down Merlin's spine. He spun around, searching the surrounding forest for anything out of place—and saw nothing. But he knew he hadn't imagined it. So he looked again, with his mind's eye this time, peering into the numerous shadows that lingered in the faint predawn light.

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked. He was attempting to get Mordred to eat something. Feeding the Druid had been nearly impossible since the battle. They had him tied to the dock at the lake's edge, sitting upright with his hands behind his back and his legs stretched out in front of him bound from the knees to the ankles. They kept him gagged except when trying to make him eat or drink. He tended to yell at unexpected moments, probably hoping for a rescue from his 'Saxon kidnappers.'

"Put his gag back on, Arthur," Merlin said in a voice that would not carry too far. "Someone's coming."

"How do you know?"

Merlin sighed, rolled his eyes, and bit back the sarcastic retort on the tip of his tongue. "Trust me. Please."

Glancing around the clearing, Arthur replaced the gag carefully so as not to make it too tight. "Second plan?"

Merlin confirmed with a nod and melted into the shadows of the forest, partially hiding behind two close-growing trees so that he would be nearly invisible to anyone coming. Unless they came up directly behind him, that is. Arthur settled himself on the ground as casually as he could. He still looked on edge to Merlin, but would probably look careless to anyone else. And then they waited.

They waited so long that Merlin started feeling sheepish. Perhaps the feeling had been his mind playing tricks on him or the product of exhaustion. He almost stepped out from behind the trees—and then he heard footsteps.

Thankfully the steps were coming from somewhere to his right, so he would not have to worry about being seen. Whoever it was, they weren't trying to hide their presence at all. Twigs snapped under heels, rocks bounced away from toes, branches whipped away from hands after being bent back and abruptly released; the steps were uneven, almost stumbling, and Merlin wondered for a moment if the person was even a threat.

Then he saw her.

Morgana was more disheveled than he'd ever seen her. Her face was scratched, her hair hung in tangles, her clothes were torn and bloodied. But her eyes were fixed on Arthur. And they were cold, ruthless, calculating…and hungry.

Merlin felt a pang in his heart. He remembered when those green eyes had been beautiful. He remembered when they had looked at him with happiness and trust. The need for revenge, the all-consuming hate in her soul had stripped that away from her. He had to remind himself of that as he gripped the hilt of his sword.

"Morgana," Arthur said.

Merlin had been so fixated on her that he hadn't even seen Arthur stand.

"Where is he?" Morgana asked, finally passing Merlin's hiding spot. "Where is Emrys?"

"Who?" Arthur looked genuinely confused, and Merlin was suddenly glad he hadn't told Arthur that name.

 _"Emrys!"_ she screamed. She turned in a circle, actually showing Arthur her back, before facing him once again. "I know you're here, Emrys. Quit hiding from me."

Arthur did not even reach for a weapon.

Morgana took another step toward him, slowly, in the manner of a hunter stalking prey. "Will you not defend yourself, great king of Camelot?"

Merlin could not see her face anymore, but he could imagine the mocking smile that no longer held warmth. No smile had gone beyond her mouth for a long time now.

"Morgana," Arthur sighed her name. "Why are you doing this? Why do you keep trying to kill me?"

"Why? You know why," she practically spat the words. "You and your father both have waged war against magic. Magic now wages war against you. You have brought this on yourself, Arthur Pendragon."

"I have changed his laws, Morgana." Arthur sounded slightly choked, as if he was about to cry. "Magic is no longer outlawed. Druids will not be prosecuted. All people will be welcome."

Morgana laughed. It was a cruel sound, a mere parody of the laughs Merlin had once heard. "You expect me to believe that?"

"You were kind once, Morgana. You were gentle. You loved people, I know you did. What changed?"

"I grew up," she snarled.

 _I grew up._

Those three simple words slammed into Merlin and coalesced into a great crushing weight in his chest. He could not breathe.

He stepped out from behind the tree, having to think about placing his feet to avoid stumbling. Morgana whipped around to face him. Her eyes dropped to the sword in his hands. Her lips curled up.

"You should know better, Emrys," she said. "I am a High Priestess of Old Religion. No mortal blade can kill me. You should have held on to that sword I gave Mordred. But you sent it to Camelot, didn't you? To be locked up in the vaults and never used. You shouldn't be so scared of your own power, Emrys. Imagine what you could do with a sword forged in dragon's breath."

Merlin took another step closer. He realized he was crying. "I am sorry, Morgana."

That seemed to catch her off guard. She frowned slightly.

"I am responsible for you," he shrugged weakly. Then he plunged his blade into her stomach.

She gasped.

"This one was forged in a dragon's breath, too," he whispered.

She reached out and gripped the blade with her bare hands. "Why?" she demanded, her voice gurgling ever so slightly. "Why do you still serve _him?"_

Merlin's tears continued to flow. "Because he has always been more Ygraine's son than Uther's. And you have always been more Uther's daughter than Vivienne's. You never could see that."

He pulled the blade out of her body. She fell, dead before she hit the ground. He saw the life leave her eyes. Because of him. It hurt more than he would ever admit to anyone. Yet another secret he would take to the grave.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked in a voice that veritably dripped concern.

Merlin looked up without wiping his tears away. He opened his mouth, hesitated, tried to think of some way to explain—

A muffled scream interrupted him.

Both Merlin and Arthur turned toward Mordred. The young Druid was struggling against the ropes binding his arms and legs, harder than he'd struggled in the past few days. He was crying. The ugly crying that made tears and snot run equally hard and made people scream until they were hoarse; the kind of crying that left eyes swollen and sore and left the soul aching. Merlin knew it well.

Mordred screamed again, still muffled through his gag.

Arthur didn't even bother untying it. He drew a knife and moved to cut the gag off.

Catching at his arm, Merlin fought to stop him. "What are you doing?"

"He's trying to say something," Arthur insisted, jerking his arm out of Merlin's grasp, and sliced through the gag.

 _"Senga!"_

Merlin winced, at the volume of Mordred's yell, at the raw sorrow in it, and at the very idea of what Mordred thought had just happened.

Arthur frowned in confusion.

"He thinks I killed Senga," Merlin explained softly. "He sees Saxons when he looks at us. He saw Senga when he looked at Morgana."

Arthur looked as though he was about to be sick. "What can we do?"

"Nothing until she gets here." Merlin had rarely felt so helpless.

They waited. They buried Morgana, but that did not take as long as they expected. They waited until the sun was high in the sky, listening to Mordred's grief. Each hour felt like a day to Merlin. He knew he would never forget the sound, even if they managed to break the spell and return Mordred to his right mind. Those wails and sobs would forever be seared into Merlin's memory. They reminded him of all the times this lake had seen such sorrow. He remembered having to say goodbye to Freya and then Lancelot, and he could only hope he wouldn't have to say goodbye to anyone else at this lake. Merlin sat staring at the water and let the tears flow. Arthur tried to catch his gaze more than once, but he avoided it. He did not wish to speak of anything. He did not want to explain. Arthur still seemed unsure of how to treat him now, and so he did not press the issue.

Around midday they heard hoof beats. Both men leaped to their feet, reaching for weapons, ready to fight until they saw the red cloaks and recognized Percival and Gwaine and Leon. They were clear and sharp against the forest in their chainmail and cloaks. Senga, on the other hand, was a blur as she dismounted and ran to Mordred.

Merlin stepped in front of her just before she reached him. He had to take hold of her to make her stop. "Senga," he said. Softly but firmly enough to get her to look at him.

She stared up at him, this young girl who still marveled at the color of flowers and sunrises and sunsets, who still laughed without a speck of self-consciousness. Merlin hoped she would never forget how. "What's wrong?" she demanded. "What happened to him?"

Merlin almost smiled—he always forgot about the fire this blacksmith's daughter could wield at a moment's notice. "Morgana came this morning just before dawn. Mordred thought she was you. He thinks I killed you. He probably won't recognize you, Senga."

She swallowed once and nodded slowly. "What do I need to do to break the enchantment?"

"Convince him of the truth. Convince him to _see_ the truth again."

"How do I do that?"

Merlin shrugged, feeling helpless and woefully inadequate once again. "I don't know."

Senga took a deep breath, releasing it shakily. "Let me talk to him."

Reluctantly stepping aside, Merlin took a couple steps back and motioned for the knights to move back as well, hoping to give the young couple some semblance of privacy. He listened and watched carefully, though, for any sign of…well, anything going wrong. More wrong than it already was. Merlin sorely hoped that wasn't possible but knew it was.

"Mordred?" Senga said his name gently. "Mordred, it's me."

Mordred stared at her, red-rimmed eyes wide and unbelieving. His mouth formed her name but no sound accompanied it.

Merlin worried for a second that Mordred had screamed his voice away.

"Am I dead?" Mordred questioned softly.

"No, love, you're not," Senga shook her head. "You're still alive. So am I."

Mordred looked at the stones marking Morgana's grave. He squeezed his eyes shut. "You're lying. You're not my Senga."

Senga knelt in front of him and took his face in her hands. When she spoke, her voice was so quiet Merlin almost couldn't make out her words. Merlin wanted to turn away, to give them some real privacy, but he had to watch. He had to make sure Mordred wouldn't hurt her.

"Look at me, Mordred. Please." She did not ask again, merely waited for him to comply before continuing. "Do you remember when we first met? You were nearly bleeding to death in the courtyard, standing in plain view of everyone. I pulled you behind a low wall to hide you from the guards. I said I couldn't stay but someone else would come and help you. You told me your name as I left and then you thanked me. You've said that you've loved me ever since that day."

The young knight nodded slowly as she spoke. Merlin could see how much he wanted to believe her.

Mordred cried out in pain, flinching away from Senga's touch.

"Mordred?" she asked, leaning back away from him, though not as far away as Merlin would have liked. "Mordred, say something, please."

Slowly, terrifyingly slowly, Mordred looked up at her again. Then he looked at Merlin, at Arthur, at Leon, Percival, Gwaine, then back to Senga—and he smiled through the tears that had started running again. "Senga," he said.

Senga made a sound that was half laugh and half sob. She threw her arms around his neck and held him tightly. He tucked his head into the hollow of her neck, almost nuzzling against her.

Merlin stepped forward and, drawing his knife, cut the ropes binding Mordred's hands. Mordred wrapped his arms around Senga and did not let go for a good long while.

Merlin walked away from them, right up to the water's edge, and once again stared at the lake. _I miss you,_ he projected the thought over the gently rippling waves. A breeze stirred, and he imagined he could almost hear laughter that was softer than silk. A voice saying _I miss you, too._ But it was only his imagination.

"Did she do it?" Arthur asked quietly beside him, almost making Merlin jump out of his skin. "Break the spell, I mean."

"Yes, she did," Mordred answered.

They turned to face Mordred, Arthur looking rather sheepish. "It's good to have you back, Mordred."

Mordred inclined his head. "I would bow," he said, gesturing to his legs, "but I think I'd fall on my face."

Senga laughed, and Merlin and Arthur both smiled. Arthur stepped over and, after slicing the ropes, helped Mordred up. The young knight wavered a little on his feet and had to hold Arthur's shoulder for support. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "My legs are probably unused to movement now."

"That, and you haven't eaten hardly anything for almost four days," Merlin pointed out.

Senga turned, amazingly enough, toward Arthur. "Four days?" she demanded, sounding as outraged as Merlin had ever heard a person sound. "He hasn't eaten since the battle?"

The king took a step back. "We tried to feed him. He wouldn't eat."

Senga shook her head and wrapped one of Mordred's arms over her shoulders. "Come on, love. Let's go get you some food."

"I am famished," Mordred said as they walked toward the other knights. He said something else, murmuring it into Senga's ear, and Merlin pretended not to hear.

"Did you see that?" Arthur said, watching them go. "She spoke to me the way you do."

Merlin lifted his chin in an imitation of pride. "I taught her well, didn't I?"

Arthur sent him a look of indignation that was all raised brows and widened eyes and opened mouth.

"You look a bit like a fish when you do that," Merlin said.

"Yeah, well, watch your tongue," Arthur blustered. "Or you'll be scrubbing floors for a week."

"And how is that any different from my regular duties?"

"Do you usually have to scrub them with your favorite shirt?"

Merlin snapped his mouth shut. "Good point."

They watched as the knights started building a fire and gathering ingredients for a meal. Leon seemed to be insisting that Mordred and Senga should not have to help. Gwaine said something that had Percival laughing so hard he bent double. Mordred and Senga, meanwhile, seemed to be perfectly content to sit together and ignore the three men.

"It's never this easy, is it?" Arthur asked quietly.

"No," Merlin said. "We're lucky Morgana didn't have more time to weave a stronger spell."

"Why didn't he see someone else when he saw her?"

Merlin shrugged. He seemed to be doing that a lot today. "I don't know. Love is more powerful than any magic, and he loves her more than anyone else in his life."

"You really believe that?"

Merlin resisted the urge to glare at Arthur. "Don't scoff. Love helped save Gwen from Morgana's control and Gwen's love has saved your life before."

Arthur looked stunned. "When?"

"Do you remember Vivian? And the duel with her father?"

Arthur opened his mouth but no sound came out. He swallowed hard before trying again. "I was enchanted? Gwen saved me?"

"Yes, she did."

"Remind me to thank her for that when we return." Then Arthur clapped a hand to Merlin's shoulder, hard enough to make Merlin look at him. "And thank you, Merlin, for every time you ever saved me and I didn't notice."

Merlin swallowed the sarcasm on the tip of his tongue. "You're welcome."

Arthur nodded and released him abruptly. "Well then, let's go see how the attempt at cooking is coming along."

"Yeah, I'd better rescue the food before Percival ruins it for us all."

Percival looked up from the pot as they approached. "What was that, Merlin?"

Merlin laughed. "Everyone knows you can't cook, Percival."

There was a round of affirmations and Percival took them with more grace than most people would have. He easily relinquished control of the cooking to Merlin.

"Where's Tom?" Leon suddenly asked.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, looking around for another person to appear.

"Who's Tom?" Arthur finally said.

"The messenger we sent," Leon explained. "He was supposed to tell you that we were bringing Senga. Did he never come?"

"No, he didn't," Arthur said, glancing at Merlin for confirmation.

"That's how Morgana knew where to find us," Merlin realized.

Everyone winced. It was as if something had blacked out the sun, so thoroughly had the mood changed from relieved to somber.

"We won't be able to find his body to give him a proper burial, will we?" Senga asked softly.

Merlin answered as gently as he could. "There may not even be a body left to bury."

Once again, everyone cringed.

Arthur straightened to his full height. "Everyone get some rest, all right? When night falls, don't extend your watches to let the next person sleep." He looked at everyone in turn and waited for their nod of agreement. "We leave for Camelot at dawn and those woods are still crawling with Saxons. We'll all need to be alert and ready to fight."

"I'm not sure I'll be much good with a blade tomorrow, my lord," Mordred said. "But I can use my magic to help."

Arthur paused at that.

Merlin found himself holding his breath as he waited for Arthur's reaction.

"Any help you can offer will be invaluable, Mordred," the king finally said.

"There is something I need to tell you all," Merlin said, the words bursting out of his mouth before he lost his nerve.

But now everyone was staring at him, waiting for him to continue—everyone except Arthur. Arthur was shaking his head ever so slightly. He didn't want Merlin to tell them now.

Merlin ignored him. Better to do it now, before any more time passed with Merlin keeping secrets from his friends. "I'm—"

"Oh no," Gwaine interrupted him. "Not you too."

Percival and Leon shared a look, as if checking to make sure the other was just as confused. Mordred looked stunned or disbelieving or both. Senga, though, was the surprise; she was completely calm. Either she felt nothing could possibly surprise her, or she already knew.

"Did he tell you?" Merlin asked her, momentarily sidetracked.

She glanced at Mordred, now looking as confused as Percival and Leon. "Tell me what? Mordred hasn't told me anything about…oh. You're… _Oh."_

"What?" Percival demanded.

"Would somebody please explain what's going on?" Leon said in the same exasperated tone.

Merlin sighed. "I have magic. I'm a sorcerer."

All three knights looked at Arthur. No one seemed to want to ask, however.

"I did not know until just after the battle," Arthur said. "Merlin is no longer breaking any laws of Camelot. He's still our friend. This changes nothing."

"Nothing?" Merlin repeated. "Nothing at all?" he threw his hands in the air and went to gather more firewood. "Why do I even bother?"

Gwaine chuckled as he joined Merlin. "I think it will change something, my friend. For better or worse."

Merlin glanced at the knight out of the corner of his eye. "You're taking this well. Come to think of it, you took the news about Mordred well, too."

Gwaine shrugged. It was a very expressive shrug, but no way was Merlin letting him get away with not explaining himself.

"Gwaine," Merlin said firmly enough to get the man's attention, "please. Percival was ready to rip Mordred's head off the first day. Even Leon was angry and that man is the most even-keeled person I've ever met. You've been very calm about everything. Why is that, exactly?"

Gwaine looked at him, sucked in a deep breath, and looked away again. "Unlike them, I've traveled. I've met sorcerers, and they're people trying to earn a living just like anyone else. Sure there are a few who go bad, but they're the exception. The bad ones get all the attention that the good ones deserve. Seems to me that you and Mordred are a couple of the good ones. The fact that you've both managed to keep your magic secret for so long just proves the point."

"Thank you, Gwaine," Merlin said with a smile.

The knight glanced around and lowered his voice. "Also, I knew."

"What?!"

Gwaine sent him a look. "Very strange things happen around a battlefield when you're there, Merlin. Things like branches breaking off trees and hardened warriors slipping for no reason. That little skirmish in the Valley of the Fallen Kings was the first time I ever saw you get scared. And then you told me you'd be perfectly safe as soon as you 'found what you were looking for.' I'm not an idiot, Merlin."

Merlin swallowed, feeling slightly ashamed of himself. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"I figured you'd tell me eventually. When you were ready for people to know." Gwaine smiled suddenly and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't feel bad. I wouldn't have trusted myself either if I were in your shoes. And don't worry about the others. They'll come around in time. Looks like Arthur already came to terms with it, mostly at least, and I'm sure he took it hard. Percival and Leon will forgive you eventually."

Merlin hoped that was true. Because right now Percival looked like he'd been kicked in the kidneys and Leon looked about the same. Merlin knew telling them had been the right thing to do, and he also realized walking away to give them time to think had been smarter than he thought. So he gathered firewood and made soup and tried to give them as much space as he could.

Only later, when he was trying to sleep, did he realize how light he felt. For the first time in his life, everyone close to him knew the truth. Merlin fell asleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

Later, days later, Merlin snuck out of the citadel and headed back to Avalon. He brought Excalibur. The blade Morgana had given Mordred was safe in the vaults; he could use it if he ever needed it. But Excalibur deserved a better resting place than a dank old vault.

He arrived at the lake around midnight. A moon two days shy of full shone down on him, lighting his path almost clear as day. The night air was still and the lake's surface was a near perfect mirror. Every star in the sky rested in the lake tonight. The boughs of the trees were almost silver in the moonbeams where they arched over the water and deepened to almost black in the shadows of the forest.

Merlin took the view in slowly, wanting to etch it into his memory as accurately as he could. He flexed his fingers around the hilt of the sword. Then he flung it out over the water.

A woman's hand broke the still surface of the water and caught Excalibur, holding it for a moment before slipping back into the lake without a sound.

Merlin stared at the faint ripples still spreading across the water. He realized he was crying, and not because of the sword.

 _Keep it safe for me, Freya._

Then he turned around and walked back to Camelot.

* * *

 _ **I fiddled around a bit with different points of view for this chapter and found that Merlin's fit best. The show is named after him, after all, so I think he deserves a chapter entirely from his point of view. Anyway, please review!**_


	15. Epilogue

**Author's Note: This is it. For the record, this kind of happily-ever-after story is not something I do often. It's actually only the second I've ever written. That probably says something terrible about me, doesn't it? What does it mean when someone is more comfortable with tragedy than joy? Ok, I'm getting off track here. I'll let you read the epilogue before I rant any further off topic. One last thing, though: this was originally about half the length it is now. It's expanded quite a bit since I uploaded the prologue. I hope you enjoy!  
**

 **Disclaimer: Still don't own _Merlin._**

* * *

 _ **Epilogue**_

"Stay," Mordred softly requested. "Please?"

He was shaking, Senga realized. His entire body was quivering. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he watched her, waiting for her response. She had never seen him this scared. So she sat on the bed next to him, slipping an arm around him and resting her head against his shoulder.

"I saw you die," he whispered. "I don't think I'll ever get that image out of my mind."

Senga didn't know what to say. She didn't know if there was anything she could say to that. Words had never been her best asset anyway. _I'm right here,_ she said the only way she knew how: She held him just a little bit tighter. _I'm not going anywhere._ She moved closer until their legs pressed together. _For as long as you need me._

His arms came around her then, and somehow they were lying on the bed instead of sitting, and he was holding her while his body shuddered with the force of his tears. She stroked her fingers over his shoulders, his back, his arms, into his hair, and waited for his tears to run dry.

"If this is a dream, don't wake me," he whispered when he had calmed enough to speak. "Don't leave me again."

Senga stretched her neck to press a kiss against his jaw. "Never."

* * *

Merlin found them the next morning in Mordred's chambers, fully clothed and sleeping on top of the covers, all tangled up in each other. He took one look and left much more quietly than he'd entered.

"Where's Mordred?" Arthur asked when Merlin came to the Round Table without him.

"I thought he deserved a chance to sleep in," Merlin said.

Arthur agreed easily. "We'll need him for getting messages to the Druids, so shelve that matter for now." Then the king paused and looked at Merlin. "Unless you can help with that?" he asked, his voice uncertain.

"Help with what?"

"We're planning a feast to celebrate the end of the war with Morgana," Gwaine explained. "There will be a bonfire and music and food aplenty. It's all very exciting."

"And I want to invite the Druids to join us," Arthur said. "But I don't know how to contact them. Can you?"

Merlin felt a tiny burst of pride. "Yes, I can do that."

Arthur hesitated again. Then he gestured to an empty seat. "Join us, Merlin. We could use someone with your knowledge."

"Knowledge of what, my lord?" Merlin asked. Because he simply could not resist.

"Druids, their customs, magic. If I'm to welcome it into my kingdom, I need to understand it. And I don't want to insult my guests without meaning to. So please, Merlin, take a seat."

Merlin smiled. He wanted to poke and prod further, to ask about who was going to do his regular duties—but sometimes he did know when to stop. Besides, no way was he going to give Arthur a chance to change his mind. So he sat down and answered all the previously taboo questions, corrected a lot of misconceptions, explained some of the limits and rules of magic; and for the first time in a very long time, he felt like he was doing something good.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Arthur," Gwen greeted her husband with a kiss. "Did you get the celebration planned out?"

"Most of it," Arthur said, digging into his lunch. "There are some details I need to run by Mordred, though."

"Something to make the Druids feel welcome?" Gwen asked.

Arthur nodded with a mouthful of chicken. "Did you get the problem with the granary sorted out?" he asked after swallowing.

"I did. Apparently it was an issue of suspect maintenance. We formed a plan to avoid further instances like this. Oh, speaking of plans reminded me," she said, acting as if the thought had just occurred to her. She waited until Arthur reached for his wine goblet before continuing. "We need to start planning the wedding."

Arthur choked.

Gwen tried not to laugh. She knew she shouldn't have done it, but sometimes the opportunity was simply too good to resist.

"Whose wedding?" Arthur asked.

"Mordred and Senga's."

He frowned. "Since when are they planning on getting married?"

Gwen shook her head in exasperation. Her husband really could be dense sometimes. Then a thought struck her, a thought that rolled around in her head and pulled her attention away from her husband. "Wouldn't that be lovely?" she mused quietly. "What better way to welcome Druids back to Camelot than to throw a wedding for one of their own?"

Arthur slowly raised his head to look at her. "One of their own who also happens to be one of ours."

"I wasn't serious, Arthur," Gwen said with a little smile. "It was just a thought."

"It was a very good thought."

"I don't think they want to be made into a spectacle," she argued gently. But she knew that look. His mind was made up.

"I'll ask Mordred first," Arthur reassured her.

Gwen raised an eyebrow. She knew that Mordred would never refuse a request from Arthur. But she let the matter drop, because she also knew that the idea was in fact a decent one. Now she could only hope her maid would forgive her.

"You'll never believe this," Arthur said in between bites, "but I just listened to the most fascinating lecture I've ever heard. From _Merlin_ , of all people."

Gwen hid a smile. "What was he lecturing about?"

"Magic. I never knew it was so complicated, that there were so many rules. And he didn't even begin to go into detail! It really is quite interesting."

"Tell me about it."

Arthur launched into the subject—a subject that had been banned his entire life—so excitedly that Gwen could not keep hiding her smile.

The new Camelot, _Arthur's_ Camelot, would be a very different one indeed.

Gwen couldn't wait to see it.

* * *

 _Five days later_

"Merlin!"

The man in question stopped in his tracks and whirled around toward the voice.

Percival was walking toward him, long legs eating up ground so quickly he didn't have to hurry. "I wanted to talk to you."

Merlin offered him an uncertain smile. "About what?"

"About you being a sorcerer."

Merlin gulped. He remembered how Percival had reacted when Mordred was outed—but Percival looked almost calm.

Percival took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "The way you talked about magic, the way you explained it to the Round Table…it got me thinking. I've been thinking about it a lot these past few days. And I'm willing to admit I've been wrong to hate magic and wrong to hate the people who use it."

All the air in Merlin's lungs left in a _whoosh_. He was so shocked he couldn't even think clearly. This was not at all how he had expected this conversation to go.

"I'm still mad at you," Percival clarified. "I'm still mad at Mordred, too. And it will take a good long while before I get used to you again."

Merlin hesitated, hoped he was reading the man correctly, and extended a hand. "Still friends?" he asked quietly.

Percival smiled and clasped Merlin's arm. "Still friends," he confirmed.

Merlin nearly sagged with relief.

The big knight laughed and threw an arm around Merlin's shoulders. "Come on," he said. "Let's go help our Druid get ready for his wedding."

* * *

Senga couldn't make her hands stop shaking. And since Gwen had instructed her not to touch her hair or her dress or her cloak, there wasn't anything she could do to hide it.

"Are you nervous?" Gwen asked with a compassionate little smile.

"Weren't you before your wedding?" Senga said, realizing that her voice shook nearly as badly as her hands.

"Horribly so. It's not every day a serving girl has to act like a lady in front of the entire court, after all."

"Well then, that's one thing to be grateful for. At least I won't have to worry about how to run a kingdom after today."

Gwen took Senga's hands and smiled gently at her. "You don't have anything to worry about, Senga. Mordred loves you, and you love him. You'll make each other very happy."

Senga resisted the urge to stamp a foot in frustration. "I know that, so why am I still so bloody nervous?"

Gwen laughed. "Blame it on the fact that an entire kingdom is about to watch you get married."

"Whose idea was this again? Who decided it would be a good idea to make me get married on the same day as the celebration of the end of the war?"

"Mine, actually."

Senga snapped her mouth shut.

Gwen laughed again. "Say whatever you want to say. I know I would've hated it if someone did this to me. I just thought it would be a good way to convince the Druids that we are honest in our offering of friendship. When I mentioned it to Arthur, I honestly didn't expect him to agree. After that, it spiraled out of control."

Senga considered that. "So I really have Arthur to thank for this, not you?"

"Precisely."

"Fantastic," Senga grumbled under her breath. "It had to be someone I can't get even with."

Gwen leaned closer to whisper conspiratorially, "I think I can help with that."

* * *

"Why did I agree to this again?" Mordred grumbled under his breath.

"Because the way Arthur suggested it, you couldn't very well say no," Merlin said as he fiddled with the clasp of Mordred's cloak, trying to get it to lay just right.

"He can be an ass like that sometimes," Gwaine chimed in from across the room.

Merlin stepped back and studied Mordred from his hair to his boots. "All right," he proclaimed. "You are ready. I'll go let them know."

Mordred watched as the warlock dashed from the room and had to consciously resist the urge to fiddle with his clothes. They felt weird; they were stiff and uncomfortable—but apparently they looked good.

"You look like you're trying to ignore an itch," Gwaine said. "I take it those fancy wedding clothes are as comfortable as they look?"

"Less so, actually."

Gwaine stretched leisurely. In honor of the celebration, all the knights had foregone armor and weapons, except for knives in their boots just in case any arguments broke out and got out of hand. Mordred felt a prickle of jealousy as he watched Gwaine moving so easily. "Well," Gwaine finally said, "I'll see you out there."

On his way out, Gwaine caught Leon's arm and hauled him through the door with the taller man protesting all the way.

That left only Percival and Mordred.

"I wanted to talk to you," Percival said.

Mordred swallowed nervously and turned to face his friend.

Percival met his gaze. "I wanted to apologize. For the way I acted when I found out you're Druid."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Mordred said matter-of-factly. "You had every reason to be angry."

Percival ducked his head, grumbling under his breath. "Will you stop being so bloody polite long enough for a man to apologize properly?" Then the bigger man stepped forward and held out a hand, meeting Mordred's gaze once again. "I hope we're still friends."

Mordred clasped his arm without hesitation. "Of course."

Percival smiled. "See you out there," he said, clapping Mordred on the back and then heading out the door.

Mordred took a deep breath in the suddenly quiet room, trying to settle his nerves. _I'm getting married tonight._ The thought sent jitters down his spine.

Then he took a deep breath, tried not to grin like a ridiculously happy fool and failed, and walked out the door.

* * *

Mordred still hadn't let go of her hand. Even though the handfasting cord had already been untied, he still hadn't let go.

Senga didn't mind at all.

"Come on," he said, standing and pulling her to her feet. "Dance with me, lady love."

She hesitated briefly and bit her lip. "I don't know how."

He smiled gently. "I'll teach you."

Then Senga looked into his eyes and realized she didn't care if she made herself a fool in front of the entire kingdom, because she would never be a fool to him. So she smiled, squeezed his hand, and shoved her silly worries into the back corner of her mind.

And she danced with her Druid by the light of a bonfire to music that resonated in her soul.

* * *

Merlin leaned back against a wall, drink in hand, and simply watched the celebration for a while. Some people were dancing, some eating, some singing, and everywhere he looked he saw Druids. They mingled with people native to Camelot and—insofar as Merlin could tell—they were being accepted. The wedding had been a good idea, he had to admit. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't come up with any better way to introduce Druids back into Camelot. Weddings were almost a universally sacred event. No one wanted to be the ass who ruined a wedding. As such, no one was picking fights, or drinking too much (except for Gwaine, but that was normal for him), or even getting so boisterous in their celebrating that they became annoying. Altogether, everything was going very smoothly.

He still expected to wake at any moment to find it had all been a dream.

"You're Emrys, aren't you?" The question came from his left, startling him so much he nearly spilled his wine.

Merlin looked at the girl who had interrupted his thoughts. A Druid, definitely; there was no other way she would know that name. She was around six or seven years old and stared up at him with wide brown eyes. "I am Emrys," he said evenly.

"I didn't expect you to be so tall," she said.

Merlin smiled. "What did you expect?"

The girl shrugged. "My mum says you're a hero."

"And heroes can't be tall?"

"They can if they're really heroes."

Merlin crouched down until his eyes were level with hers. "Do you want to hear a secret?"

She nodded, eyes growing even wider.

"I'm not really a hero," he whispered. "I just try to do what's right. If you do the same, people might call you a hero someday."

The girl positively squealed and then ran off, presumably to her mother.

Merlin cocked his head to the side and wondered what he'd done wrong.

"That's probably the first time anyone's told her a girl can be a hero, too," Gwen said from behind him.

"Who ever said girls can't be heroes?" Merlin asked, genuinely confused.

Gwen laughed. "The woman who finally catches you is going to be very lucky indeed."

He stood and faced her, trying not to react. Thankfully he didn't have to try long.

Gwen hugged him. "Thank you, Merlin."

Merlin patted her back uncertainly. "For what?"

She withdrew and smiled at him. "Keeping Arthur alive all these years."

Then she left him to his quiet corner. Merlin settled back against the wall and sipped his wine. He searched the crowd until he found Arthur. Gwen had somehow convinced him to dance and she was doing a marvelous job; Arthur, on the other hand, looked completely lost. Gwaine was laughing at the king, Percival had found a dance partner of his own, and Leon was standing off to the side having a very serious yet also friendly conversation with a Druid. Merlin hoped Elyan and Lancelot were watching. He allowed himself a moment's regret that they could not join the celebration.

Merlin began studying the people around the king and queen—and then caught himself looking for signs of aggression. He realized he was looking for an assassin. Even though he had no reason to.

He'd spent so many years trying to keep Arthur alive that he couldn't even take one night off. He had spent so many years making sure other people found happiness that he'd forgotten how to be happy himself. He had friends, sure, but when was the last time he'd been truly happy, the last time he'd smiled for no particular reason? He did not even remember. He had watched other people live while he had buried himself in duty.

 _This wasn't supposed to happen._

Merlin didn't want to just sit back and watch anymore.

He downed the rest of his wine in a single swallow and joined the celebration.

Tomorrow he would start figuring out how to balance duty and joy. For tonight, he would simply have fun.

* * *

 _ **And there you have it. My happily-ever-after/everyone-lives version of**_ **Merlin. _I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!_**

 ** _Finally, in case you didn't know, reviews are a fanfic writer's ambrosia and nectar. Every last morsel is treasured. That's why I beg so shamelessly for them every chapter. So don't hesitate to send one my way!_**

 ** _Thank you so very much for taking time out of your busy lives to read my story! And please review :)_**


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